


The Lion in Winter

by TheWitchsOwl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Jon Snow/Daenerys, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Evil Cersei, F/M, Female-On-Male Rape, Food Issues, Horror, Hypothermia, Jaime rescued Chapter 11, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Nyctophobia, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Torture, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWitchsOwl/pseuds/TheWitchsOwl
Summary: An AU starting end of S7E7.Jaime headed North to Winterfell to fight the dead and honor his promise to both Brienne of Tarth and his brother.  He did not get far.  Queen Cersei has him hauled back and throws him in the black cells.  Between the dark and her torture, Jaime has to decide what is most valuable to him and whether it's worth living or dying for.It's up to Brienne, Tyrion, and a maester to put him back togetherStatus: Hiatus. This is being worked on and will have updates in the far future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Man In The Black Cells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114477) by [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss). 

> This story takes a large amount of inspiration from Aviss’ The Man in the Black Cells that has been linked to this fic. Yes, I did ask for permission to make my own version. I’m a stickler for details, so while I very much enjoyed Aviss’ version, I wanted even more from the story.
> 
> Though the scenario is from the show, I tend to adhere closer to the book versions of the characters. And before we even get into debating character versions, I think we can all agree that it was OOC for show and book Cersei to just let Jaime ride North to expose all of her plans to her enemies. You can agree or disagree about how the impending events are executed, but book!Cersei is more than mad enough to torture her own beloved brother. She was even threatening Jaime in the show, more than once.
> 
> **This is your FINAL warning:** This fic is going to be as dark as a black hole. It will not shy away from the details. It’s supposed to be horrifying and gritty. I’ve tried to tag as much as possible. Feel free to tell me to expand on the tags. Otherwise, **please heed the tags!**

**Chapter 1**

_ “I don’t believe you.” _

Jaime tried to keep his eyes forward as he galloped under the gate. The streets of King’s Landing were empty in the descending twilight. A cold wind blew through the streets, stinging his skin and no doubt forcing the other residents into their homes to escape it. The staccato rhythm of his horse’s hooves echoed and bounced in the empty street, the only sound that could be heard above the wind. He winced at the grating noise, pinging off of his nerves and he only started breathing easily once he was through the final gate and the sound softened as his horse tramped over soft earth rather than cobblestone.

He stopped briefly to put on his gloves. If he wanted to make it to the North unscathed, it was best he hid his gold hand. He frowned fiercely at it. Should he just leave it? What was it to him anyway? He had grown accustomed to it, but it was heavy and cumbersome. It’s only use was for slapping disrespectful cunts.

He smirked to himself at the memory of Black Walder reeling and spitting out a tooth or two after his vicious backhand. It felt like justice for the Starks. No matter what he felt about that green boy, Robb Stark, and the way he was treated, he hadn’t deserved to watch his queen and unborn child murdered in front of his eyes. Or stabbed to death at a wedding where it would look poor to have weapons on hand. He had deserved a fair fight, a fair death. If Jaime’s hand had survived, he would’ve insisted on that fair fight being against him.

Jaime nudged his horse forward and broke out into a gallop.

_ What’s done is done, _ he thought with some finality and the sentence weighed on his chest. There were so many things he had regretted, especially recently. The instant he saw the smoke where the Sept of Baelor had once stood, he should’ve turned his horse and ridden away. Where to, he couldn’t be sure, but he had known the instant he saw that plume that Cersei had been responsible for it.

_ I’ve lived through the Mad King once already! You’d think I would’ve recognized the signs, _ he berated himself. What were the odds that the Mad King would have manifested in Cersei? And yet, he had propped up both of them. The first one he had been held prisoner by his oath, and the second one, he’d been held prisoner by his love. He’d been so desperate to have back what they had before his capture by Robb Stark, that he was willing to overlook even her disgust for him. He was so married to the family goals of retaining power, that he had been willing to overlook nearly every atrocity that they had committed in the name of that power. The only action of honor that he had taken was giving Brienne her armor and Oathkeeper so that she might pursue where Sansa Stark had disappeared to.

And now this. _ I’m coming, Brienne. If nothing else, I’ll be there, _ he swore, his face softening as he thought of her righteous anger in the Dragonpit. She had been right. As usual. He had hoped in some small part that Cersei would recognize the significant threat the Others posed, that she wasn’t as far gone as she appeared. And then in the map room, their conversation was enough to shatter every illusion that she and he had both used to pull over his own eyes.

He was done with Cersei. If ever he was to return, it was to see her dead.

An urgent hail of horse hooves reached his ears and he swiveled to look behind him. He nudged his horse into a run and hustled her. He recognized the coldly shining armor of the Queensguard he no longer commanded. Even as he rode, it felt like the bottom had fallen out from underneath him and the noise of running hooves became a distant rumble like thunder. He figured Cersei would never let him go. He knew too much; he would only be allowed North if he delivered his sister’s plans to her enemies. However, he also had expected her to be slower on the draw. 

He wasn’t going to make it. 

Jaime pulled the reins on the horse and turned it around. He could keep this chase going for hours yet, but what was the point? He pulled out _ Widow’s Wail _ and waited, the dread mounting in his chest. If he was weak with his left hand, it was nothing compared to wielding a sword on horseback. This would be over before he even properly engaged.

Sure enough, one of the Queensguard came speeding up and he jabbed at him in the hope it might catch him in the side, but the man merely brushed the sword aside and used the momentum of his horse to pull it from his grasp. It clattered onto the road.

The rest of the Queensguard, minus Ser Gregor Clegane, encircled him.

“Ser Jaime, the Queen wishes you to be escorted back to King’s Landing,” Ser Osmond Kettleback said.

“How kind of you to provide one,” Jaime sneered. “I don’t feel like going.”

“It wasn’t a request,” he replied.

A Queensguard punched him in the back of his head and stars burst in front of his eyes as he slumped forward in the saddle.

“It doesn’t have to be hard, Ser Jaime. You can make this easy.” 

“I doubt it’ll make me any less dead,” he growled. There were a few guffaws among them and he imagined he was about as threatening as a toothless lion. Someone grabbed his left hand and he felt the rough texture of rope slide across the skin there. He yanked his hand away, but leaned too far and fell out of the saddle, his right foot caught in the stirrup at a painful angle. 

A Queensguard jumped down from his horse and landed a foot square in his stomach. Jaime doubled up, the breath knocked out of him. He weakly held out his left hand, but it didn’t stop the Queensguard’s fist landing square into his temple.

When next Jaime came to, he could feel himself swaying with the movement of the horse. There was a painful pressure on his ribs, but though he felt a foot twitch, his brain was still too hazy to move. He cracked an eye open to see his hands hanging out in front of him and the ground moving beneath them. He’d been thrown over the front of the saddle, the horn digging painfully into his side. He shut his eyes to the movement of the ground as it swayed before him, his stomach roiling with nausea that he struggled to choke down. After a time, he drifted away again.

Jaime winced as he’s jarred awake, pulled roughly from where he’d been thrown over the saddle and unceremoniously dragged. He tried to get his legs underneath him, but then he’s shoved onto his knees in front of Cersei. Although his hands are free, two of the Queensguard have hands on his shoulders that keep him glued to the ground. He glared up at her, but she’s only amused. Despite being outside, she’s still only wearing her black, pleated dress, standing as tall as she could manage. Ser Gregor Clegane stands behind her, silent and menacing with his sword sheathed.

“Brother, that you thought you could get away from me is a testament to your stupidity and your weakness,” Cersei chastised. She reached out to place a hand on his cheek, but he jerked away.

“Just be done with it then, sweet sister. Kill me. You can’t have a traitor brother after all,” Jaime replied, the words feeling harsh in his throat. There was a severe ache in the line of his shoulders and the pain in his knees was growing as he remained on the ground. It was difficult trying to keep from shivering in the brisk winter air.

She shooks her head with the air of a mother scolding her child. “Where did you go wrong, brother? We were going to finally be together as you have wanted for years. I gave you that opportunity, so many chances, but you were too stupid to notice.”

Jaime tipped his head so that he was looking down his nose at her. “If I have one regret, it was not killing you when I had the chance.”

Cersei frowned. “Whatever would you kill me for, brother? I wasn’t the one who failed our family. The throne is firmly in our grasp thanks to _ my _ work. No thanks to you.”

“You killed Tommen. You never loved him like you loved Joffrey and your scheming and machinations drove him to his death. You blew up the Sept of Baelor. I killed the Mad King for less,” he snarled.

That caught her attention. “You never mentioned a reason for killing the Mad King. He was mad after all; I would think that’d be reason enough.”

“As mad as you. I allowed myself to be blind to it.”

She slapped him. The pain erupted sharply across his cheek, but in only moments he could not separate the sting of her slap from the biting cold of the wind. 

“You will not talk to me like that! I am your queen. You continue to surprise me, brother. You’re only continuing to dig the hole that you’re in. It would be _ smart _ of you to stop.”

Jaime smirked at her but it lacked mirth. “Contrary to what you believe, I’m smart enough to recognize I’m not getting out of this alive.”

Cersei began tracing his features. “That’s what you think.” She grabbed his jaw in a vice and planted a kiss on his lips. He tried to jerk away, but she dug her nails. He drew his own mouth into a firm line and refused to respond. She ran her fingers softly over his lips, the look on her face soft in spite of her words. “I wonder how long you’ll last.”

She finally stood up. “Strip him then throw him in a black cell.” She strode away, Ser Gregor and her Hand, Qyburn, following just behind her.

The Queensguard were on him like a pack of coyotes. Jaime twisted and bended to get away, but they took the order quite literally. First the gold hand was torn off his arm and tossed. They clawed at his layers. He was twisted out of his jacket, his other shirts were ripped clean off of him. He cringed at the cold air that enveloped him, but they left him no reprieve and began ripping at his breeches until he was huddled before them naked as his nameday.

Lannister soldiers had been mingling, keeping a healthy distance, but they all watched the spectacle. It had been bad enough losing the hand that made him the greatest sword of their lifetime. He hoped they assumed he trembled with fury rather than the chill. When the Queensguard grabbed his arms again to haul him away, he fought tooth and nail, pleased that he managed to throw one of them off-balance with his wild energy. Unlike before when they simply knocked him out to make him docile, they fought him the whole way into the black cells. Two of them handled him easily enough and they shoved him into the cell. He winced as his skin scraped against the floor. 

The door closed with a pounding finality and with it the last of the light. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes** \- Thank you reading, everyone! I greatly appreciate the comments and Kudos as well. I hope you keep enjoying it.

**Chapter 2**

Jaime went over to the door but didn’t bother wasting his energy pounding on it. Putting his left hand on the door, he dragged it across, feeling the wood change to stone as he walked around the room. It was only slightly bigger than the cage Robb Stark had kept him in when he was forced to travel with the army. The floor was entirely bare: no blankets, no cot to sleep in, and nothing to piss or shit in. He did feel where a pair of chains were hanging on the opposite ends of each wall. Despite the circumstances, he was grateful to not be chained up at least.

After several minutes had passed, he began to shiver. The heat in his blood from fighting had faded away and now all he felt was the damp chill of the stone walls. His sweet sister had left him with  _ nothing _ . No clothes to warm him or prevent the grime of the cell from clinging to him. Even the Mad King had not burned his victims naked.

At first Jaime tried to stay warm by exercising and stretching. Without light he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. He pissed in one corner and then sat opposite that corner. In the dark, alone and silent, he could hear the pounding of his heart in his own ears. Desperate to keep his mind from wandering to unpleasant topics, he emptied his mind in a form of meditation and waited. 

Eventually he began to feel the first pangs of hunger and his eyelids dragged with exhaustion. With nothing to do, he curled up on the floor and fell asleep. He jolted awake at the sound of a flap opening and something being pushed through. He scrambled for it and then gently touched the contents inside and hissed. Cold. They had given him  _ snow _ . He scowled and set it down. It wasn’t so cold that it wouldn’t eventually melt, so that he could quench his raging thirst, but it would do little for the cramping in his stomach.

As the time passed, he stirred restlessly. Was his sister really going to end him by starving him to death? He doubted it. She didn’t strip her other prisoners naked either, but then none of her other prisoners had ever been former lovers. He felt a chill go down his spine.  _ She wouldn’t, _ he thought, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure there were any lines Cersei wouldn’t cross anymore. She had just come back from sentencing Ellaria Sand and her daughter when they fucked the last time. It chilled him to recall that the Mad King had delighted in raping his wife after an unjust murder.

He could feel the beginnings of panic grip him. In the dark, with nothing to see, every stray sound was Cersei coming to torture him. His heart was beginning to pound painfully in his chest and ears. He sipped at the now melted bowl of snow, but found his appetite for either food or water gone at the rising panic. His breath was starting to come in short gasps and his hand trembled so violently he set the bowl before any precious water spilled.

_ Focus! _ Jaime lectured himself. He was a soldier! He’d spent countless days in captivity previously. The accommodations so far weren’t quite as bad as Robb Stark’s. He had been chained in his clothes to that cage, his hands restrained behind him, so that he was forced to piss and shit himself and sit in his filth at all times. 

His heart finally slowed and he was able to breathe deeply. 

“I wonder what Brienne’s doing.”

He startled himself with the sound of his own voice. A word hadn’t passed his lips since entering the cell and in the dark, it felt like his own voice existed outside of himself. He hoped she was well on her way to Winterfell. They had heard Jon Snow had boarded a ship, but he didn’t know if Brienne had accompanied him. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t. She had to get back to Winterfell just as quickly. He wasn’t the praying type, but he prayed that Brienne was outside of Cersei’s grasp. Staying on their side at the Dragonpit had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He just had to remind himself of what Cersei would do to Brienne if she suspected anything foul between them. If he hadn’t known better, he would think Cersei was jealous. Of Brienne!

“I guess she had reason to be,” Jaime said in bitter amusement.

He cast back to their first sword fight. He’d grabbed a sword and pointed it at her, but instead of the uncertainty and panic of a young knight, she had met his threat with her own glare and her head held in confidence. It was well-earned confidence. In that one instance, she had toyed with him. It had been years since he’d been on the weaker side.  _ If only I hadn’t lost my swordhand, _ he thought with longing. What he wouldn’t give to be able to fight her at full strength now.

Jaime remembered the intense look on her face. For all of her ungainly height, she had moved with the grace of a dancer and fought with the strength of a bear. Her face went red with the effort and her eyes had shown like cut sapphires.

His cock twitched and he groaned. He didn’t hesitate to move his hand down to grasp it and hissed at the sensitivity he was feeling. This wasn’t the first time Brienne had inspired an erection. He had tried so hard to stroke himself to Cerses other times, only for Brienne to shove her way in to dominate the forefront of his mind. 

He didn’t even bother fighting it now. They were never to be, so he felt there was no shame in satisfying his desire. It seemed like in no time at all, his cock was rigid and weeping. His heart was pounding in his ears and for the first time since he entered the cell, he was flush with heat. Moans of pleasure erupted from him as he imagined pinning her as he had promised, but instead of ragged and filthy like he had been while traveling, he was clean. The scene had morphed from the battle on the bridge to his bed in the White Sword Tower. It was small and cramped. 

Naturally, their fucking was as contentious as their fighting. He couldn’t see Brienne being the type of lover who simply laid there and let it happen as if a Septa had coached her. They would push and pull with each other, constantly switching the dominant. His favorite was her riding him. She was so tall, he imagined he could bury his head into her breasts.

Jaime’s eyes rolled into his head and he actually saw sparks erupting in his vision, the first light he had seen since entering. He shuddered as his seed erupted, splashing onto his thighs and hand, the warmth welcome in the cold darkness. 

He thought he fell asleep afterwards because he jolted awake, startled by an unremembered nightmare. There was a raging dryness in his throat and his stomach snarled with hunger. He felt for the bowl of snow and hissed when he nearly tipped it over. His hand trembled with weakness, so he took extra care to make sure the bowl made it to his lips. The snow made a pitiful puddle, but it was cool and refreshing, taking the slightest edge off of his hunger.

He wanted to talk more. In the dark, he could almost lose sense of the fact that he had a body. There was little else to keep him grounded save for the sound of his voice, so he relished it now. It was already becoming rough and harsh from disuse, but what could he say? He was never one to talk to himself. Talking to one’s self was generally conserved for the city beggars who liked to carry on a full conversation with no one. He would like to think his mind was not that far gone yet.

Instead of talking, he sang. He wasn’t well known for carrying a tune, so he was speaking the words in a vague rhythm. That entertained him and distracted him from the gnawing hunger in his belly. He went from one song to the next, trying to see how long he could go without pausing. It wasn’t long; the words degraded into humming.

Jaime was startled to alertness when he heard a door open close by. Then he heard footsteps approaching and he followed their progress as best as he could. He tensed. His limbs were stiff from the cold and disuse, but he got his legs underneath him in a crouched position. He was going to make a break for it. Undoubtedly he wouldn’t get very far, but it was better than simply sitting in the cell, accepting his doom.

His heart leapt as he saw the orange light of a torch flickering underneath the door. Blood pumped through him and his limbs trembled as he prepared to spring. Now shadows moved and he heard the distinct clinking of a key turning in the lock.

The door opened. Jaime didn’t even wait to see who was there. He leapt forward, shoving Qyburn out of the way. The guards were so startled that one reached out but only grabbed at air. He staggered, but it took him only moments before he was pelting down the hallway.

“Stop him! Bring him back!” 

Even in the low light of the torches, his eyes stung. He barely reached the end of the hall before he began to flag, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst from his chest. Despite the blood roaring through his veins, his legs felt weak and he threw himself against the door. It gave just enough to allow him through, but much of his initial burst of energy was gone.

Jaime gasped for air like he had been dunked in a river and the world swayed before his eyes. He scrambled to get away, but the hurried footsteps of the guards were getting closer. He made it down the next hall, but gazed up in despair at the flight of stairs that led to another door. He knew beyond that was more hallways, but he’d at least be on ground level. He was too weak to walk up the stairs, so he tried crawling up them. He had one last burst of energy as the guards approached, but they grabbed his feet and pulled him back down the stairs. He screamed and scrambled for purchased, but his fingers merely scraped the stone and he slid into their waiting hands.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, they grabbed his arms and hauled him back. He grimaced at the way their grip pulled on his shoulders, but they were stronger than him now. He felt as ineffectual as a cub in the mouth of its mother.

Qyburn stood waiting for them, his lips pursed in a frown. It was only as they approached that he noticed a tray and scattered bits of food lie on the ground.

“This won’t do. This won’t do at all,” the Hand muttered. “The Queen demands you eat a proper meal, but even now…Chain him to the wall.”

Jaime was too exhausted to fight. Instead, he stared at the hunk of meat that rested just outside of his door. He kept having to swallow his spit as he imagined tearing into it. 

When the guards stepped away, his left arm was chained at the wrist above him, but it was low enough he could sit on the ground. An excess amount of chain draped next to him and he frowned at it in confusion.

“I have been experimenting, Ser Jaime. This spike here,” Qyburn points to a spike just below his wrist. “Allows me to chain you to the wall, but once it’s removed you can move your arm freely. Her Grace has been kind enough to allow me to pursue knowledge regardless of the implications and accomodations like this have...come in handy.” 

Jaime’s lip curled in disgust. His stomach revolted at the thought that this man had been his greatest aid to healing his stump. He had a feeling it was going to be a debt he regretted paying.

“It is winter. Since the dragon queen destroyed the food train, it is a scarce commodity. You’ll have to make do with this,” Qyburn chastised as he scooped up the food that was knocked from his hands. 

“Not scarce enough that the queen has to do without I imagine,” he sneered.

_ Crack! _ He blinked at the sting of the slap and glared at Qyburn in shock. He hadn’t thought the failed maester would dare.

“You are a prisoner, Ser Jaime. A traitor. It is time you learned that you are nothing at all now.”

“Still a knight, apparently,” he replied bitterly.

“For now,” Qyburn said with an unctuous smile. “Now, if you’re good while I feed you, I won’t keep you chained so closely and I’ll see to it that you’re more comfortable.”

It was tempting to rebel and prove his fighting spirit, but his stomach felt like a rat was eating through it. Though the food was now covered in a layer of grime, he tore into it all the same as Qyburn carefully fed it to him. He wouldn’t have even cared if it were poisoned. He choked on the grit and gravel and spit out the chunks of rock when he found them.

“That’s a good boy,” Qyburn said, patting his cheek like he was a dog. 

Jaime’s temper flared and he threw his stump, knocking Qyburn in the head. His smirk of satisfaction was short lived as he received a kick in the ribs for his trouble.

Qyburn brushed his robes and sneered at Jaime. “I said I’d let you roam freer if you were good. Consider that privilege revoked. I suggest you rethink your behavior unless you want to lose the entirety of your left arm. You see, I have learned a great deal about how the human body works. Cut off the blood to a limb and after enough time it begins to rot away while still attached to its living host. You thought losing your hand was painful…” His smile grew wide and sneering, and then he shuffled out and the guards once more receded, allowing the darkness to envelope Jaime again.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! I really appreciate it.
> 
> Again, **please heed the tags**.

**Chapter 3**

**Jaime III**

Jaime breathed heavily and pinched his face against the pain of his left arm forced above his head. It had virtually drained of blood. A dull ache from the numbness had begun and now was turning into a sharp pain. His heart pounded as though it was putting in extra effort to get blood up it, but was unable to. He could feel sweat pouring down his face and he tugged to get his arm down. If he didn’t get his arm released, he would lose it as surely as he lost his right hand. He didn’t even want to contemplate being completely handless.

_ Might as well throw myself into the sea next chance I get, _ he thought. Tears began to mingle with his sweat. Though he had eaten little, his stomach was tied up into knots and he had to swallow to keep the bile down this throat. _ How long has it been? _ He couldn’t rightly say. Time did not exist in this cell. It could have been an hour, it could’ve been a day. He had long lost the ability to track time in the ceaseless dark. They didn’t even offer him the courtesy of keeping torches lit _ outside _ his cell.

He bit his lip to keep from crying out his pain. He jumped as the door creaked and he could hear the footsteps and scrape of metal against metal as guards moved down the hallway. His eyes drank in the torchlight as he saw it stop outside the door. He turned to face the wall, a stubborn set to his jaw, but he begged inwardly that they were coming to at least release him from the wall. 

Jaime tried to remain unphased as he heard the grind of the key turning and the scrape of the door as it swung inward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Qyburn step in wearing his usual insufferably smug expression.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

He pursed his lips and willed himself to say nothing. At this point, he wasn’t sure he’d insult Qyburn or plead for his help and he refused to sully himself with either option. However, he couldn’t resist his eyes going to the guard holding the torch to Qyburn’s face, but mostly he lingered on the torch. Light. Heat. Warmth. He wanted so desperately to cradle the flame. He’d prefer the painful death by fire if it meant no longer being deprived of light and warmth.

Qyburn grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. He wasn’t sure what the failed maester expected to see, but he smirked and let go. “That’ll do, I think.” Then he reached up Jaime’s arm fell bonelessly to his side.

Jaime couldn’t keep himself from grimacing as the blood rush back into the limb. He cradled it as best he could with his other arm, trying to rub life back into the limb, even as the feeling of a thousand pins and needles worked its way up his arm.

“You are a dog, Ser Jaime. Not a lion. You will do as your Queen pleases, or there will be consequences.”

“Like what? Dying?” Jaime asked in a surprisingly rough voice, but he finally managed to muster a smirk.

Qyburn paused and gave him a knowing smile. “Oh much worse.” He then turned towards the other knight and it was only then that Jaime realized he was holding a bowl. He set it down right and Jaime saw another small pile of snow awaiting him.

“You have the power to make this easy on yourself, Ser Jaime. Which will you pick?”

Jaime laughed. He laughed so hard he began coughing and it took him a moment to regain his breaths. Qyburn raised his eyebrows at him, but he just shook his head and continued smirking. Then the door slammed and he was plunged into darkness once more. Once he heard the second door slam, he chuckled again and said, “Easy? Make the torture easier on myself? He’s as deluded as she is if he thinks I believe that.”

The release of his arm gave him an initial surge of energy and relief, but it was now tapering off. His arm was at least feeling back to normal now, but his stomach snarled and his eyelids dragged down. He placed the bowl far enough away and curled, shivering against the dark.

He dreamed of Brienne. Her eyes were sorrowful and full of disappointment. 

_ “I thought you were a man of honor, Ser Jaime. I thought you’d be there.” _

_ “I tried. I tried. I tried.” _Those seemed to be the only words he could say.

_ “You’ve betrayed us. You left me to die. Now look at me.” _ As she spoke, chunks of flesh fell from her face, revealing parts of her jaw, and her skin became paper thin and grew holes. Her eyes glowed blue. Then she lunged for him. He tried to fight against her, but he had no weapons, and his hands - for he had both of them - pawed uselessly at her chest. She raised her sword high and bashed him in his skull. He jolted awake with a metallic clang ringing in his ears and he massaged his skull, wincing from the pain as if she had really hit him.

_ Clang! _

He blinked and looked towards the door. There were torchlights in the hallway. He unfolded himself and got to his feet or tried to. He didn’t think he’d been in this cell for more than four or five days, but all the strength had left him. His legs trembled alarmingly under his weight and he clawed uselessly at the wall for purchase as though that could help him. He slowly got to his feet and with a monumental effort, straightened his spine, but he felt dizzy and had to reach out to the wall to brace himself.

_ Four days and I’ve been reduced to this? _ As much as he hated the dark, he was grateful he didn’t have to watch himself waste away before his own eyes. He hobbled toward the door, only to be stopped short by the manacle on his wrist. He tugged fruitlessly on it, but it didn’t budge. His strength had drained almost immediately and he slowly slid down the wall, still aching to look through the little window on his door.

It was a hammering sound, so it had to be a smith of some sort. Was Cersei adding new additions to the dungeon? But for what reason? Was it specifically for him? He tried to think, but his head pounded from what he assumed must be thirst and his stomach was eating away at his insides. 

There was enough light seeping in under the door that he could just barely make out the outline of the bowl he’d been given earlier and he crawled towards that. He picked it up as gently as a babe and sipped from it. His tongue had the dryness and texture of parchment and he nearly cried out as soon as his tongue hit wood. He tossed the bowl in frustration, but it smacking the wall only made him wince rather than give him true satisfaction.

The hammering halted briefly and then picked up again. The smith must’ve been surprised to realize that anyone was down here. _ Even he should know better, _ Jaime thought sourly. The smallfolk hated Cersei more thoroughly than he did, but they feared her more than him. He wasn’t afraid. At worst, this was his punishment for his stupidity, his gullibility. It’s not like she hid it well. The smouldering ruin of the Sept of Baelor could be seen from his quarters in the Red Keep and yet he had ignored it for the warning it gave him. He deserved this. His only regret is that he couldn’t make her suffer with him.

Jaime curled up against the wall, plugging one ear with his good hand to lessen the sting from the hammer fall. He shifted multiple times as he tried to ease the pressure from his bladder. Pissing meant he was using up the water he had faster than they could give it to him. It was pointless to keep from pissing. Should he have kept the bowl so that he could drink his own piss? His stomach gave a nauseating shift as he thought back to when Locke and his ilk had given him horse piss to drink. He should’ve known from its disturbing warmth, but he hadn’t been of sound mind then.

He tried to think past the pounding of the hammer and his headache to the survival skills he had learned as a knight and member of the Kingsguard. A memory came back to him with a jolt of Ser Gerold Hightower who had relayed the story of a knight who had been lost in the forests during winter. To prevent frostbite from taking his toes, he had resorted to pissing on his feet.

It was certainly a better idea than drinking it. The warmth it provided was fleeting, but it did lessen the ache of the cold in his bones. His mind, naturally, threw back to his captivity tied to Brienne, when he had been so consumed with pain that he hadn’t even had the wherewithal to be shamed for soaking his breeches. He recalled with a mirthless chuckle that he had initially hated being tied back-to-back with her, but even as he thought it, he felt a pang of loneliness so sharp, he moaned. 

_ Damn wench is the best thing that ever happened to me, _ he thought with a shake of his head and prayed once more for her safety. She wasn’t helpless like he was. In fact, she had appeared even more formidable with her fur cloak and blue armor, a hand on Oathkeeper as she surveyed the dragonpit. She had always been self-confident, but now it shined from her, declaring her success at keeping that sacred oath they had both made. Not even Cersei had intimidated her.

Jaime had never wished to see someone so dearly as he did now. They had left on such poor terms that he wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t hate him now. _ If she didn’t hate me before, she surely will when I don’t show up with the promised army, _ he thought morosely. Would she ever know the truth of his fate? Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t.

The hammering finally ceased. He heard a low conversation and then the guards escorted the man from the cells. The torches disappeared and he was left once more in the dark to his thoughts. Where before he was ready to claw at the door and scream to stop the hammering, the void left by its absence felt all consuming. He shivered once more from the cold and his stomach gnawed painfully still. He curled up as much as he could, pillowing his head into his knees. Not for the first time, he wished he could die.

_ Live. Live and fight and take your revenge, _ Brienne’s words echoed through his head once more. He was in near virtually the same situation, but without her companionship.

“At least not physical,” he mumbled to himself. “For you Brienne. I’ll live and fight for you.”

There was no revenge to be had. Cersei would never let him free again. Any chance of slitting her throat had vanished the moment he had broken her trust to ride North. 

“Back to the bloody North again.”

His head perked up when he heard the door open once more and the sounds of a few men coming down the hall. The flickering of the torches returned and he watched the light under the door with acute interest. He wanted a torch, if only to see and feel the warmth on his skin. There was a whispered muttering and then the clanging of the keys turning in his door. 

Qyburn was back. His gaze barely brushed over him as if he was a mere inconvenience. He opened the chain and then went back to the door and held it open.

“Go on then.”

Jaime peered through the door. There were three guards now, holding their shields out as a buffer to block the way back to the surface. The door across the hallway where the smith had been working was now held wide and he could see a plate of food waiting for him. 

Though he immediately started salivating, he glanced at Qyburn in suspicion.

“Move,” Qyburn commanded.

Still Jaime remained where he was and silent.

“You can either go to the other cell or you can be dragged, but I’ve cautioned you before about making things difficult,” Qyburn said, his face and tone the very essence of stone.

Jaime frowned tersely, bristling at the indignation of being treated so lowly, but then Brienne’s words echoed back to him again. _ Live. Live and fight and take your revenge. _

“For you,” he whispered. Slowly, he unfurled himself and managed to stand despite his shaking legs. He wanted so desperately to walk to the cell with his back straight, ever the knight, but he found he didn’t have the strength and so his shoulders remained hunched. As he passed the guards, he focused desperately on the food, knowing the disgust and shame he’d see on their faces if he looked. 

_ Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, brought low by his cunt of a sister, _ he thought bitterly. It shamed him to be so undignified, but he did his best to keep his thoughts on Brienne. He at least wasn’t sitting in his own piss and shit yet.

He fell on the platter of food. The meat was tough like it was overcooked and without utensils he was forced to tear at it like a dog. When he tired of attempting to eat, he turned to the wooden cup which appeared to have water in it and a quick swig confirmed it. He tried to pace himself, but his stomach demanded more and quickly.

Jaime only realized the others’ absence when the light faded. He turned to find that Qyburn had closed and locked the door without his noticing. He did his best to force away the pit of dread forming in his stomach at his failings. He was going to die anyway. _ A fatal mistake at this point would be welcome, _ he thought and immediately saw the stern and disappointed look on Brienne’s face. _ I promised her I would live. I will. _ But even if he wanted to keep living then forgetting such feelings as alarm and despair would be the first place to start. He had to remain calm and put aside his concerns.

When he finally polished off the tough piece of meat and drained the last of the cup, he curled up in a corner. He was so cold and fatigued that nothing sounded more enticing than going to sleep. _ Is it better to stay active and hungry or to conserve everything? _ He wondered. His strength drained from him by the day and he wasn’t getting enough nourishment to stay strong anyway. There was no chance of escape. He had barely started up the flight of stairs before they’d caught him. 

He stayed where he was and began humming tunelessly to himself.

It seemed to become bitterly cold in his dreams and he tried to curl up further. He saw the army of the dead, half a million strong. Their blues shone like torches. Apart from the sounds of their feet, they were utterly silent. Under normal circumstances in a silence this deep, he’d be able to hear the breath of a man, but they had no need for such a thing. Again, he saw Brienne, deathly pale, her jaw rotting away, and she held Oathkeeper in her hand still. She crushed Cersei’s skull with her footstep and kicked her body as she stepped. Towering over him, she raised the sword over him. He seemed paralyzed, unable to breathe, but he brought a hand up in week protest, unable to say a word. She brought it down and he jolted awake with a gasp. 

His heart pounded painfully and he moaned at the fear and despair. “Whatever you do, wench. Stay alive. I’ll only live if you do,” he said and then laughed at himself. The notion was ridiculous. He was destined to be long dead before she even met the Army of the Dead. Even if Cersei didn’t kill him right away, he’d never know if she lived or not. 

“Enough with the fanciful notions!”

Jaime’s eyes widened, his shoulders went tense, and his breath froze. Although he felt his eyes move in the dark, there was nothing to see, but he recognized the voice of his father anywhere. He waited with bated breath and then shook his head. “Fanciful notions indeed,” he muttered to himself.

“You were always a disappointment,” Tywin’s voice echoed through the cell. “You were supposed to act as my heir! But you shirked your responsibilities and demeaned yourself. You’re the only one to blame.” He could clearly see the disappointed scowl on his father’s face.

“Speak for yourself, Father. Despite all of your craft, you still never fully recognized the obvious and that’s why it was your downfall. Tyrion was the heir. He was always the clever one, the one most like you,” Jaime ranted. “You refused to recognize it. That’s your greatest failure and it killed you. Mine was refusing to recognize Cersei for what she is.”

He jumped when the door suddenly creaked open and he turned toward it.

“Who are you talking to?” Qyburn asked.

“Myself. You’ve made sure I am my only company.”

Qyburn narrowed his eyes at him and then suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his hand. It startled Jaime so much that he yanked it away and he got punched hard enough to bang his head against the wall.

“Behave. You don’t want me to force my hand,” the failed maester reprimanded him. He grabbed his hand again and Jaime felt the kiss of chilled metal as he was chained to the wall once more. Then Qyburn stepped around him and grabbed his right arm. 

Jaime watched fascinated as his arm was cuffed to the wall just below his elbow. _ That’s new, _ he thought and then recalled the smith there earlier. _ He was outfitting a cell specifically for me. _ He pulled against the new restraint. Because of the way he was cuffed, he couldn’t straighten his elbow and pull it back through.

“Just for me? I’m touched,” Jaime said with a sneer.

“If we thought we could trust you, we wouldn’t have to resort to such means,” Qyburn replied with his usual insufferably smug smile.

“Yes, trust a traitor not to do harm when he’s destined for death down here. How could my sister think so little of me?”

“You should be flattered. Her Grace insists on a visit.” The failed maester clapped his hands and two serving girls appeared, each with buckets on their arms. Their expressions were guarded and fearful as their eyes went from Qyburn to him and back again.

“Clean the prisoner. He needs to be fit to see a queen.”

They nodded and spread out on either side of him. Then both took a wash cloth and began scrubbing him.

Jaime’s breath shuddered as he felt the warmth of hot water on his skin and he subconsciously twisted to seek it out. They were remarkably gentle and he relaxed in their hands.

“Come now! Time is of the essence,” Qyburn snapped.

Their movements became vigorous as they wiped at his face and newly grown beard. His chest, thighs and groin were next. They barely gave his feet a pass before Qyburn clapped once more. Then the failed maester reached out and plucked a towel from the hand of one of the guards and threw it at one of the girls. 

“Dry him and be quick,” he barked.

Jaime winced at the rough cloth rubbed mercilessly against his skin Cersei’s and Qyburn’s kindness only went so far and it was at its end with the towel. Then the girls hurried out and Qyburn left him in the dark once more.

He began humming to himself once more and he ceased when he heard the door open again and the footsteps of a group of people. The door swung open noisily, but he kept his attention on the far wall.

There was a pause and then he heard an all too familiar chuckle. “It’s barely been a week, brother, and you’re already a skeleton.”

Jaime still did not turn and continued staring at the wall.

It was a moment before she spoke, laughing once more. “Your cock looks like a turtle’s head, barely poking out of its shell. Pathetic.”

“Any dullard would know that cocks shrink in the cold,” he finally sneered at her. “Maybe if you hadn’t stripped me of my clothes you wouldn’t be so disappointed.”

She slapped him, but he smirked. Judging by the sting on his face, she’d clawed him like a cat and he was certain beads of blood were welling up in the cuts.

“Still as stupid as ever, I see,” she said as she bent down in front of him so that he looked her in the eyes. “I know Qyburn has been diligent about bringing you to heel, yet you continue with this pitiful resistance. It would behoove you to listen and behave.”

“Why? What does it matter to me? I am your traitor brother, condemned to the black cells forevermore. You’re never letting me go.”

“That may be the case, but don’t think I can’t still hurt you.”

He snorted. “Do your worst.”

“You shouldn’t challenge me brother, because I will.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Who was that cow that you’re so enamored with?”

Jaime cocked his head. “Cow?”

“The big maid with the blue armor and blonde hair. I really don’t understand how you can be so taken with such a beast.”

He tried to sound nonchalant, but he could feel his heart pounding now. “She did my bidding, a servant at best.”

“You’re a poor liar. Almost as poor as she is,” Cersei replied with a dangerous smile. “I will kill her if you die on me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I think you know better than to test me.”

“She’s up in the North. The fucking dead will kill her before you could get anywhere near her.”

“It never hurts to be thorough.”

Jaime only stared at her with a half-smile.

“You seem to be under the impression that I lack anyone cutthroat enough to do the job. I don’t need a better fighter. A well-placed bolt in the eye should be enough. Do you think she’ll see that coming?”

He remained silent, but he could feel himself sweating. Cersei hated Brienne. She was torturing him in a cell now, what would she do to someone she hated? He already had a notion judging by the fate of Ellaria Sand and her daughter.

She grabbed his jaw kissed him hungrily. Once more, he made to pull away, but she held him like a vice, so he drew his own mouth into a line and refused to engage. She didn’t stop, but continued nibbling down his jawline and then bit and tugged hard at his ear lobe. He hissed, but he could already feel the blood rushing to his groin. Heat rose in his cheeks as he felt his cock respond to her ministrations.

Cersei continued down his neck to nibble and suck at his pulse point and he had to bite his lip savagely to hold back the groan that was caught in his throat and he looked up at the ceiling. 

_ What is she doing? _Jaime thought, even as a cold dread began to grow. Surely even she was above forcing him to fuck. He was reminded of that night two months or more ago when she had returned to him and tried to kiss him, but he turned his head and said ‘no.’ There had been fury in her eyes as she gripped his head harder and began to kiss him again. He had been too weak then to resist and his defenses had collapsed, all thought fleeing his mind when she pulled down his breeches and sucked his cock.

Now she was doing the same, but she did not appear to notice or care about his lack of engagement, but kept going.

“That’s better,” she murmured as she looked at his half-hard cock. Then she took it in her mouth once more.

Jaime shut his eyes, unable to keep a few whimpers from making it past his lips, but they weren’t whimpers of pleasure. Bile was rising in his throat and he swallowed it back. He clenched his teeth and shook his head in agony. 

When he tried to draw his knees up to his chest, she stopped and glared at him. She said, “Brienne of Tarth.”

He froze. Should he believe her? Cersei was more than capable of sending an assassin, but he doubted whoever she sent could complete the job. How easy could it be to sneak into Winterfell and catch Brienne unawares? She was a fantastic fighter, but still far too trusting. She had believed in him after all. It was entirely possible the assassin would succeed. Slowly, he allowed his knees to fall apart and he released a shuddering breath.

“You’re so easy. Stupid, pathetic. Father would be so disappointed.”

“No more disappointed in me than you,” he rasped back, struggling to blink back tears.

Rage distorted her face. “Father was old and complacent! He couldn’t see my true genius. I am a more true disciple of his than you and Tyrion could ever hope to be!”

“Father wouldn’t have been stupid enough to arm the Faith Militant.”

She lashed out with hand, putting all of her anger behind it. His vision went dark and he saw stars flashing before his eyes.

“If you don’t cooperate for this, I will send an assassin after that dumb cunt the instant I leave this cell.”

Jaime refused to speak, but he gave a shaky nod and looked up at the ceiling again. Panic was welling up inside of him as he struggled to control his breathing while she sucked his cock. She suddenly stopped. Cersei moved up and repositioned herself onto his lap. Despite wearing a dress still, she found his cock and sank onto it. The look on her face was pure ecstasy. Then she rode him with wild abandon while he shut his eyes to get the image out of his mind. She grasped his head in her hands with such a tight grip, he hoped it would break his skull and end his misery. His release was quick, but she continued and he had to grit his teeth once more to keep from vomiting.

Finally, Cersei slumped against him, though he didn’t think she had reached her release. She nuzzled into his neck. Were he not sitting chained to the wall in the cell, he would’ve enjoyed it. This was an intimacy he had been craving from Cersei for years. Even before being tossed in here, she had never been one for cuddling. With her here now, it took every particle of his being not to kick her off. _ For Brienne, _ he thought.

When she finally regained her breath, she lovingly ran a thumb over his cheek and there was a softness to her eyes that he only saw when she had stared at her children. 

“You aren’t a lion anymore. You’re a stallion. My stud. You will provide me my pleasure and children until you die. Your blood is perfect in every way except this weakness. But I know it’s a learned behavior. That can be trained out of them. These children will be perfect this time. I’ll make sure of it.”

She gave him one last kiss, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Then she drew herself up and ran her hands over her dress to flatten out any creases and daintily stepped over to the door. Qyburn then came in and released his right arm and the pin that held his chained hand up.

“You did well. Your reward,” Qyburn said and placed another plate of tough meat and water in front of him.

But Jaime didn’t notice. He slumped over on his side and stared listlessly at the other wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note**: Thank you for reading. I thought perhaps people might be interested in just why I decided to write to this...level of detail. I think of it as a character study/exercise. It’s one of those stories where the character is thrown into an extreme circumstance and I’m interested in seeing how he would cope. Being alone in the dark for so long can cause a human to start hallucinating and it’s extremely stressful for the victim.
> 
> I promise, the Brienne/Jaime moments will come. Please be patient and I hope you continue to enjoy. =)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you readers for your time and appreciation! It means a lot!

**Chapter 4**

**Jaime IV**

  
  


Qyburn returned after a short period of time, or so Jaime thought. He was still slumped, staring blindly, not that it mattered in the blackness of the cell.

He only blinked when he heard the cell opening, but otherwise stayed still. 

“Her Grace wishes you to be warmer,” Qyburn said. Then Jaime felt the soft lightness of a blanket fall on him. “Now eat. I will force feed you if I must, but you know the consequences.”

Then Jaime was left alone in the dark again. Once he heard the last of the footsteps fade away, he clutched at the blanket and wrapped himself in it. The wool was rough and it had a faint earthy smell to it, but he cherished the warmth. He continued to pay no mind to the food, not trusting himself to be able to keep anything down.

He worked on just breathing and attempted to clear his mind, but his thoughts were like birds flapping up against a cage. The first crystallized thought was one of shock. Cersei was supposed to love him. Even if they disagreed, they were still twins. It had become clear to him that she was using and abusing that bond, but he never considered that she would stoop this low. Truly, he was stupid to have ignored the signs that had been there for years and had only grown more evident after Joff’s death.

At no point had he ever felt as alone as he did now. Even when he was Robb Stark’s captive, he held onto the hope that Cersei would be waiting for him. It turned out to be a false hope, but it kept him alive. Now he had nothing. He was nothing. Cersei had literally and figuratively stripped him of everything that he valued. Everything except that measly smidge of honor that Brienne seemed certain he had.

But he could not eat honor, he couldn’t hold it, or drink it. And only Brienne was aware that he’d had it. However, even she would be cursing his name in a matter of weeks when he failed to bring the army north as Cersei had promised. He would die ignominious and for what? So that he could slick his dick for a few extra weeks? 

“And I thought few could be so depraved as your brother.”

Were Jaime’s eyes open? Or were they closed? Was he dreaming? This time Tywin Lannister sat propped up against the far wall, his usual scowl even deeper. He was dressed in his Lannister armor, appearing at his most formidable. 

“This fate is your own making, just as my fate was my own.”

Jaime didn’t say anything. He tried to hide his eyes, close his ears, but nothing was able to shield him from his father. 

“If you had just remained my heir, you would have married and had your own children that you are so desperate for now, and then the Seven Kingdoms wouldn’t be the mess that they are in today. This is your doing.”

“Ser Jaime.” Brienne’s soft voice caressed the thoughts engaged in his mind, easing grief and despair. “You did what you thought was right. No one could ask for more.” She was closer, sitting against the side wall, but still far enough away that even if he stretched he wouldn’t connect. 

He focused on her. Though she wasn’t smiling, her face was softer, kinder. She didn’t even look at his father, whom he’d stopped paying attention to. “Brienne, I’m sorry. I should’ve just gone on the search with you to find Sansa. Cersei didn’t deserve my loyalty. You did.”

“You did what you thought was right. Now you need to go away inside, as you told me.”

He blinked in befuddlement. It had been so long since he’d given her that advice. To think he would have to employ it now was unconscionable.  _ If I want to survive. _ Cersei had threatened him with Brienne’s death if he didn’t survive. He would never be able to live with himself if he was the cause of Brienne’s death. Cersei had to know that, which is why she threatened him with it. Would she follow through knowing he would die?

_ That presumes she even tells me, _ he thought grimly. A further thought stilled his heart: there was nothing stopping Cersei from sending that assassin now, whether he ‘behaved’ or not. What could he do about it?

_ It may have been better for Brienne if she had never met me at all, _ he thought, hanging his head in defeat. Maybe he should’ve become the Queenslayer as well. He had thought about it, fresh from Tommen’s suicide and her destruction of the Sept of Baelor. He had killed the Mad King for significantly less. He had hesitated, not least because she’s his sister, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with the inevitable infamy. Kingslayer, Queenslayer, and Kinslayer all rolled up into one. There would be no running away from that stain nor the crime. Queen Daenerys would kill him all the same, finally passing judgement on him for the death of her father, as was her right. It was no less than he deserved.

The Lannister name henceforth would be a cursed name and used as such, like an oath cursing the Gods.

Jaime thought he had drifted off or perhaps had finally quieted his mind to the point he was simply existing. He stirred, feeling the gnawing pangs of hunger. He reached in the direction he thought the meat was and his hands dragged over a wooden plate. His hand brushed over it carefully, feeling for the cup of water and meat. The water was set aside carefully so as not to spill it and then he picked up the meat and gnawed at it. It had grown even colder and harder since it had been given to him and he was forced to hold it in his mouth for minutes at a time to allow his spit to soften it up.

Slowly, methodically, he chewed the hunk of meat and drank the water. Unlike the hunger, his thirst was not slaked. He ran out of water before he finished the meat, the last few bites of which caught in his throat and choked him for the dryness. When he finally managed to swallow the last of the meat, he lay wrapped in the blanket, wheezing and exhausted. He drifted off again.

When next he woke, he had to piss and shit. He left the blanket with a pained groan, but he only got a few feet before he ran into the end of the chain on his hand. It took some doing, but he managed to relieve himself as far away from his sleeping spot without falling into it. Then he curled up again and slept.

The creaking sound of the door down the hallway opening awakened him this time, but he remained curled up under the blanket, staring blankly at the far wall.

Qyburn returned with the two maids and their buckets. “Get up,” he barked.

Jaime glared at him but finally extricated himself from his blanket, tossing it to the side so that there was no chance of it getting wet. Qyburn motioned for him to sit by the chains and he obediently allowed himself to be fastened to the wall. The girls surrounded him and rubbed at his skin vigorously with a rag, taking extra time on his face, torso, and cock.

Up to this point, he had refused to look closely at his body, but when he looked down he didn’t even recognize himself. He had probably not been imprisoned for more than a week and his ribs already protruded painfully against his skin. The muscle was quickly wasting away in his arms and legs, but he wasn’t quite skeletal yet. It wouldn’t be more than a week or so before he was. Quite a bit of scruff was growing on his face and in the light he could see the shaggy tips of his hair threatening to cover his eyes. 

Cersei entered some time later, her back straight with her head up, but her eyes were cast down like she was trying to step around him without acknowledging him. 

He drew his mouth into a firm line and glared at her, but there was little heat behind his gaze. If he wanted to keep Brienne safe, he had to cooperate. Whether Cersei honored her promise or not, he was going to do his damndest to make sure Brienne didn’t become her victim.

She looked down on him with a disgusted frown that mirrored her expression when she saw him for the first time after he returned to King’s Landing from being Robb Stark’s captive. “You look like one of the peasants here.”

“They at least have clothes.”

“Most of them. Tell me, brother, did Robb Stark and his northmen make a woman out of you? That would explain your newfound weakness.”

“No one stoops to lows quite like you, sister.”

She lashed out at him and his head bounced off the back wall again, but he chuckled even as stars flashed in front of his eyes. “I guess I won.”

“Not from where I’m standing,” she hissed.

“You imprisoned your brother who lost his swordhand. You act like it was hard,” Jaime smirked up at her.

He could see a spark of anger in her eyes, but there was a slight tremble to her lips. “It was hard, Jaime. You are my brother. We are to be one! I kept forgiving you for your transgressions, but you kept making them. There is a point beyond which even I can’t forgive. Do you know what I’ve sacrificed to keep us here?”

Jaime grew grim. “You sacrificed Tommen and his peace so that you could cling to your power.”

“That Whore from High Garden was going to take the Kingdom out from under us!”

“Margaery Tyrell made Tommen happy! Tommen was to rule as was his due!”

“She was going to be his puppeteer!”

“At least she made him happy. Unlike you.”

Cersei suddenly stalked away. When she came back, she held a sheathed knife in her hand. Jaime closed his eyes, but he cried out in pain as she whipped the sheath across his face. His eyes rolled in his head and he was unable to focus for a few minutes.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you aren’t in love with this Brienne of Tarth. You’ve made no effort to control your behavior.”

“You’d hit me if I didn’t answer your questions,” he finally said, blinking up at her. The area around his eye throbbed and a painful heat was emanating from the spot. A bead of blood slid down his cheek and drip onto his thigh.

Cersei crouched down and grabbed his face, then licked the blood off of it.

Jaime flinched and sneered. He tried to control his reactions when she reached for his cock once more and began to work him into an erection. He kept his eyes pinched closed and cast his mind about for the first distraction.  _ Go away inside, _ Brienne’s voice seemed to whisper into his mind. Her homely face and gentle blue eyes shined at him. He tried to think of the last time he had been happy with her. It was when he’d handed her the armor and the sword. The look of surprise and...friendship had warmed him better than any fire on a cold winter’s night. Things had been simpler with Brienne. Traveling across Westeros, far from the troubles of the world, had been freeing. Sure, he had deliberately been a pain in her arse, but looking back on it, it was quite possibly the most peaceful time of his life. With Brienne there had been no expectations, no pleading and manipulation by Cersei, no disappointment from his father. 

He sank into the memory as he reimagined the fight with Brienne on the bridge. Instead of having his hands tied, though, they were free. He and Brienne danced uninterrupted on the stone bridge. Her form was good, but she tended to use brute strength to carry her blows. There were times when she made moves that left her wide open for attack, but she’d also been playing with him. Weak as he had been from a year long captivity and without the use of his hands, he was no better than a normal lad just beginning his squireship. 

Now, though, he was at his best and in his prime. He could follow the movement in her patterns and he simply waited for her to make a wide ranging attack. She swung with all her strength, bellowing like a boar. He ducked it and stepped in. He brought the sword in to touch her in the side—

_ Thunk! _ The image went dark and pain blossomed in his skull as his eyes rolled from the blow once more.

“Pay attention to me!” 

When he had refocused once more, Cersei was hovering over him ready to sheath herself once more and she glared at him. “I will not have you hide away from your punishment.”

“This isn’t punishment. Prisoners aren’t punished this way.”

“Women prisoners are.”

“You know I’d never condone that,” he snapped, locking eyes with her once more. “I was only ever faithful to you. There was never another woman. Only you.”

He saw her face soften, but there was a wicked light in her eyes. Then again maybe it was just the sinister way the torchlight flickered across her face. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“‘There was no other woman,’” she replied in a mocking imitation of his voice. “Except Brienne of Tarth.”

“I have never lain with Brienne. She is a maid still.”

“Little wonder with that face. You may never have lain with Brienne, but your betrayal is in your heart. You’ve considered lying with her and that’s all that matters.”

“And what of you?! You’re ready to fuck Euron Greyjoy and you expected me to be pleased with that?”

“I expected you to be smart! We need his fleet. If I can pay for it with a little flesh, I will.”

_ You sound like a whore, _ Jaime thought and it took him biting his tongue to keep from saying that. She would send an assassin after Brienne if the thought passed his lips.

Cersei smirked at him. “You can learn after all. Too little too late.” With that, she sank onto his cock. At the sensation, Jaime was forced to swallow the bile that climbed into his throat. He did his best to look anywhere but at her. The combination of pleasure and disgust only seemed to sharpen the nausea he felt.

Once he had spilled, she stood up, smoothed out her clothes again, and began walking towards the door.

Jaime was gasping for breath and the sheen of sweat on his skin caused him to shiver, but he followed her with a bewildered expression. “That’s it? You only wanted my seed?”

She hesitated a moment, but it was enough to dawn on him.

“There was no baby, was there?”

Cersei didn’t answer him. She simply rejoined her guards and they escorted her back out. Qyburn came in again, releasing him from the wall and gave him a plate of watery stew. His order to eat fell on deaf ears.

Jaime lurched forward and vomited into the center of the cell. Acid burned his mouth and nostrils. He upset the bowl of stew heading back to the wall but paid it no mind.  _ I am such a fool! Time and time again, I allow her to manipulate me. I make it so easy when I tell her my wants. She played on my desire to actually be a father. Truly, I am the stupidest Lannister. _ He grabbed the blanket once more and shrank back into the wall.

He looked at the wall longingly as he considered bashing his head into it. He didn’t deserve to live.  _ All of this time, I’ve done misdeeds for someone who didn’t hesitate to use me like a sword. Brienne was wrong; there is nothing honorable about me.  _ But he couldn’t give up. Brienne’s life was at risk. If he could do one good thing, it would be to safeguard her in the only way he could.

He curled up under the blanket, breathing heavily around the pressure on his lungs and his heart. Not even the fight with the dragon on the Rose Road left him feeling this kind of despair. It made him double up in pain as his guts twisted and his heart lurched painfully. It was some time before he fell asleep.

As before, his sleep wasn’t peaceful. He twisted and turned, fighting the blanket. At one point, Cersei was strangling him. He flailed in an attempt to stop her, but his hands couldn’t seem to reach her and he felt the air being stopped in his throat. 

Jaime jolted awake with a pained gasp.

“You failed to eat and you spilled it,” Qyburn snarled at him. 

Jaime blinked up at him in bewilderment, but doubled over once more as Qyburn kicked him in the ribs. 

“I warned you of the consequences of not eating. I guess we’ll do it the hard way.” 

He had fallen helplessly limp, allowing Qyburn to fasten him to the wall.  _ For Brienne, _ Jaime thought.  _ I’ll do this for Brienne. _

The failed maester grabbed him by the jaw and forced some bread into his mouth. He nearly broke his teeth on as he tried to bite off a chunk, but it was clearly left out to dry and become stale. The dryness scratched his throat and he tried to cough it back up but Qyburn held a hand over his mouth. He fought to swallow, but it took several minutes to choke it down. Once the hand was removed, he coughed so hard he was convinced his heart would fail him. He was only just breathing again when Qyburn gave him a drink and then forced another hunk of stale bread.

The rest of the meal was a cold, watery stew and it was poured into him rather than spoonfed until he felt uncomfortably full.

“That should tide you over. Eat your food when it’s brought to you or we will repeat this.”

Jaime glared half-heartedly at him, but he mostly remained hunched over and gasping. Some stew had slopped onto the blanket much to Jaime’s dissatisfaction, so he ate as much of it as he could and curled up again. The cold made him never want to leave the cover of his blanket, so he remained huddled underneath it.

His father visited again with more of his biting criticism. Brienne did not offer her reassurances, but sat in silent judgment of him, the disappointment written all over her face. He pinched his eyes to shut them both out, but it only seemed to increase his headache and make him want to vomit again. Yet he was determined to keep this meal down. He tried to focus his energy on making his mind silent, but it only seemed to make his headache worse. For the first time he felt a peculiar strain on his mind that he’d never felt before. 

It took him time to notice, but lights like stars twinkled before his eyes whether they were opened or closed.

Once again, he did his best to hide away inside from the loathing in his father’s voice and Brienne’s disappointment. Jaime fell. He couldn’t feel the prison anymore, but the darkness still pressed on him suffocating him.

“Lord Jaime?”

He tried to hide from the voice, but it only got loud.

“Lord Jaime.”

He tried to scramble away.

“Jaime!”

With a strangled scream, he woke. He had been thrashing so much he’d managed to kick the blanket off and roll out of it. He scrambled for it again.

“Jaime, it is you!”

He turned to see someone staring through the window in the door, but the torch they were carrying cast shadows on his face. He scampered back.

“Jaime...don’t you remember me?”

He stared and thought back through his memories. Now that he thought about it, the voice felt so familiar, but it had been some time since he’d heard it. “Ser Addam?” What had happened to Ser Addam Marbrand? He hadn’t seen his childhood friend in what felt like years. He had been so consumed by his family’s machinations at court that there hadn’t been time to actually check Addam’s whereabouts. It was a relief to see he had survived.

The figure sighed, but then asked, “What has she done to you?”

Jaime drew his mouth into a line and refused to say, casting his eyes down.

“I’m going to free you.”

His eyes widened and he tried to reach the door, but his chain held him back.

“No, you can’t! People will die if Cersei sees that I’m gone!”

“People are already dying. You don’t deserve this.”

Jaime shrank back. “I am getting exactly what I deserve. I enabled her.”

Addam was silent for a moment. “...I never thought I’d see you like this. She did it.”

“You should go. Take care of yourself. She’ll kill you if she knows you’ve been down here. I’ve made my bed; I should sleep in it.”

“Enough! I am freeing you.”

“Really?” Jaime sneered. “And where will you take me? Cersei will hunt for me to the end of my days. There’s nothing you can do, but save yourself.”

“We can go to Essos. There’s enough money to buy us protection.”

Jaime chuckled dryly. “Once the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms, now reduced to hiring bodyguards.”

Addam was silent again for a moment and then said, “You no longer have any dignity; paying for guards can’t make it any worse.”

This time Jaime went quiet and he curled up and hid himself under the blanket in humiliation. It was bad enough being stripped of everything that had made him who he was, but being reminded of it in such a callous way made it worse.

“Here, have these.” He heard the thump of a couple of heavy things hit the floor. “Stay alive, Jaime. I’ll get you through this.”

Addam was not going to take no for an answer, it seemed. He felt his heart ache with a gnawing pain that Brienne would almost certainly be the recipient of Cersei’s ire if they escaped.  _ Maybe I should’ve told him about her, _ he thought. But Addam had a tendency to be single-minded and no amount of threat to someone who was a member of the enemy’s armies was going to keep him from doing as he said. 

So Jaime sat up and reached out to where he heard the thumping. It was a solid object that flexed slightly under his fingers as he squeezed it. He nibbled cautiously at it and felt juice and flavor explode into his mouth. 

_ Apples! _ At just the thought, his stomach growled in want and he began devouring it without care until he was nibbling at the core like a dog would at a bone, trying to get all of the flesh off of it. Once more, he felt over-full and he grimaced at the way his gut seized. He grabbed the other apple, but didn’t eat it. 

“I’ll save it for later,” he whispered to himself and held it to his chest like he would a loved one.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, what happened to Addam Marbrand in the show? He was in like one scene and then they forgot about him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support, readers! You are the best!
> 
> This is the last torture chapter for a while. I promise! There are so many in a row because chronological order demands it.

**Chapter 5**

The apple gave him the shits some time later. He bit his lip to keep from crying out at the cramping that gripped his stomach and he wondered if this was actually what would kill him. He’d heard of countless men sitting in countless camps waiting for the army to march, that had died shitting themselves to death from disease rather than from the rage of battle. It was enough to make him laugh bitterly. 

Odd things made him laugh now. It was better than the oppressive silence. He began conjuring up Tyrion and Bronn to have conversations with them.

“I almost hate to say it, brother, but I do believe I am the more handsome Lannister son now,” Tyrion said. He was always holding a goblet of wine and he’d drink from it. Seeing it made Jaime’s thirst return in force and he would swear he could taste the grapes and the bitter sharpness of the alcohol. 

“Only to those who drink enough wine,” Jaime replied and he laughed as if he made the greatest joke in the world.

Bronn was less funny. He only ever whined and it was almost more annoying than listening to his father berate him for his failures. “Now who’s going to give me my fookin’ castle? Somehow I doubt ole’ Queen Cersei will honor our agreement now that you’re a traitor.”

“She certainly won’t if you call her old,” Jaime replied, but it was less in amusement and more in exasperation. “Is there really nothing more important to you than getting paid?”

Bronn seemed to ponder it for a moment and then said, “Fuckin’”

Jaime sighed. “There’s more to life than either of those,” he replied glumly. Thinking about fucking made him sick to his stomach, but he forced the bile down. To distract himself he began eating the other apple he had saved, but more slowly.

“Maybe for you. I don’t need more than that.”

“Go away,” Jaime snarled. 

Bronn disappeared, leaving Jaime to stew in his dark thoughts. He didn’t stew for long—or so he thought—because he heard the creak of the door and he felt his heart leap. He finished the apple and threw the core into the farthest corner. For a moment, he held still, thinking it was Ser Addam, but then he heard the telltale sound of a group of feet stomping his way and he fell back against the wall.

Jaime only inclined his head when the flicker of the torchlight could be seen beneath the door.

The door creaked open. Qyburn stepped in and he saw his nose wrinkle in disgust. “You’ve made a mess!”

Jaime remained silent, still staring at the far wall.

“This won’t do. Do you have no pride, Ser Jaime? I thought you’d keep a modicum of cleanliness.”

Jaime gave a soft snort that he wasn’t sure Qyburn heard, but otherwise said nothing. He tensed when Qyburn approached, but then stared in curiosity as the failed maester unlocked the chain and let his hand go free. 

“Guards, form a corridor. To the other cell, Ser Jaime,” Qyburn commanded, pointing towards the door.

They were transferring him back into his old cell again. He hesitated for a moment before attempting to get to his feet. His legs trembled and he feared the bones would snap under the weight of the rest of his body. He held the blanket and walked forward, hunched over mostly out of chill rather than shame or weakness. Once through the door, it slammed shut and the lock clunked into place.

Jaime curled up on the floor once more, using his stump to rub at the skin on his left hand. It was wondrous to be free of that chain, even if for a moment. He wrapped himself in the blanket and curled up.

“Clean this up and be quick about it. I will be inspecting and if it’s not done to my satisfaction, I will have you flogged, per the queen’s orders,” Qyburn barked.

There was a squeak or a whimper from one of the servants and then he heard the scraping of his cell being cleaned of the piss, shit, and vomit he’d left in it. Free in this cell, he could once more piss in a corner far away from himself and he would take advantage of that. No doubt Cersei would be down shortly. The thought made his stomach roil.

_ It’s just a few minutes. You can manage. For Brienne, _ he thought to himself, once more bringing her kind, homely face to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t see her disappointment, only smiles.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Brienne. I wish to tell you that someday. By the Seven, make it so,” he whispered into the cell.

He startled when Qyburn barked at the servants. He went to piss and then wrapped himself in the blanket once more and fell asleep.

Qyburn kicked him awake and Jaime startled, immediately scrambling to get away from him.

“Back into your cell, Ser Jaime.”

The guards had formed yet another corridor and he slumped into the cell. It was only when Qyburn was chaining him to the wall once more that he saw a pair of servants standing by the door, each with a rag and a bucket.

“Now you will clean him.”

Jaime tried to relax into the routine, attempting to enjoy the warmth of the hot water that they scrubbed his body with. He did his best to choke back bile as he felt his cock respond. He refused to make eye contact and only stared at his knees as they hastily scrubbed him. Then he was dried.

Minutes later, Cersei entered and there was a pleased smirk to see him already half hard.

“Even your own body is eager to see me. Don’t you see now how pointless it is to resist?” She asked, rubbing a thumb gently over his cheekbone. 

Jaime remained silent,staring into her face but not really seeing it.

“I miss you. You were always a comfort in trying times. Your body was so solid and warm. If only you’d understood what you had right in front of you. Alas, I cannot forgive treason,” she said.

As the silence stretched, her smirk turned into a sneer. “Say something!”

“I don’t miss you,” he whispered. There was no mirth present on his face, only cold indifference. He had said it before he even realized it and as he thought about it, the truth rang like the peal of a bell. All Cersei did now was make him miserable. He would sooner starve to death than be subject to her demanding and hateful presence again.

“I would kill you now. You and your beastly whore. A pity you have the only Lannister seed left. Try to enjoy our time together. I am the only one left to care about you.”

She raped him again. He tried to hide away inside, but Cersei always brought him out of his mind with a vicious smack or twisted his ear until he thought she might tear it off. She rode him long after he’d finished. It was only when he was ready to scream that she finally stood up and walked away. Qyburn undid the fasteners until he was merely chained to the wall and gave him a plate of food.

The last thing Jaime felt like was eating, but he forced himself to choke the food down. He did his best to save the water for last so that it would be easier to shove down the tough meat. There were a few vegetables, but they had begun to blacken with age. Yet he stuffed them down his throat anyway.

He fell asleep. Instead of being besieged by the dead, he was the dead. His body moved of its own volition. He could see the skin peeling away from his stump and the finger bones gleamed white under the moonlight. There was a bone-deepening chill that seemed to manifest from his very being. He saw Brienne fighting against a wave of the dead. He began crawling toward her, but not under his own power. He resisted, he tried to scream in warning, but his body did not cooperate. 

Brienne turned to him with her sword ready to swing and faltered. Her eyes went wide and her face twisted in distress. “Ser Jaime?!”

_ Kill me, kill me, kill me, _ he wanted to scream at her, but there were no words. He somehow knocked her to the ground and her sword fell far enough away that she couldn’t reach it.

“Jaime, no,” she screamed. But he tore at her. Red gashes appear on her face, but despite her desperation, she starts drowning in her own blood.

His own screaming wakes him. He looked around the black cell, seeing nothing, and only feeling the hot tears on his face. When his heart finally settled, he curled up again and wept. _ Not like there’s anyone here to see it, _ he thought.

Eventually the tears dry and it’s not long before a raging headache is blossoming behind his eyes as a result. His heart pounds in a way that’s uncomfortable and it feels like there’s a hole where his stomach is. He’s certain he’s about to die and he couldn’t decide if it was welcome or not.

_ Brienne. I have to stay alive for her, _ he thought but it was so difficult. It was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do, even more than persevering when he had lost his hand. Brienne had at least _ been _ there, cheering him on. Now he had to pretend that she’s there and his imagination was never his strong suit.

The silence engulfed him. His rough breaths were the only thing he could hear.

After a time, the door down the hall scraped. He tilts his head to hear, but is otherwise motionless. There is only one pair of boots on the stone and it causes him to sit up.

“Jaime? Are you still there?” Ser Addam asked.

“Yes,” he replied, though it’s barely a whisper.

“It’s time,” Ser Addam said. The lock of the door yielded with a clunk and his friend walked in, carrying a torch, with a bag over his shoulder, and a key in the other hand. His friend has lines on his face, making him appear much older than he was but there’s a warmth in his voice that soothed Jaime with its familiarity. “There’s a boat ready to take us. We need to leave. Quickly, put these on.” He put the torch in a sconce and then tore the bag open, pulling out something dark and threw it on him. 

Jaime touched it in disbelief. Clothes! When was the last time he actually wore clothes?

“Hurry,” Addam snapped.

Jaime tried to pull the shirt over his head, but the chain clinked and he held it up. Addam undoes it but his arms are tired and it takes nothing at all to make him winded. 

“What has she done to you?” Addam said with a torn look on his face. “I could kill her.” Instead, he began helping Jaime into the clothes.

“How long have I been down here?”

“Three weeks.”

“That’s all?!”

“Starting tonight, that’s the end of it.”

“I’m hungry.”

“There’s food in the bag, but we don’t have time to eat. You need to get up.” He pulled a woolen hat over Jaime’s head to finish off his appearance.

Jaime eventually managed to get to his feet, but the world spun before his eyes and his legs trembled. He had to lean against the wall.

“Here,” Addam wrapped his arm around him and began hauling him through the door. “If there’s a fight, I may need to drop you, but we’ll make it together.”

“She’s never going to let me go,” Jaime whispered. “She’ll hunt us wherever we go.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

“I don’t want you to die. Not for me. I’m not worthy.”

“I’ll decide if you’re worthy enough or not,” Addam growled.

Ser Addam practically carried him out in their hurry. Jaime felt himself flush from his weakness, unable to keep pace with his friend. In less than two weeks, he was weaker than a child and wearing clothes felt foreign to him. He was glad he had boots now to prevent his skin from scraping against the stone. 

His heart sped up as Addam hauled him up the stairs to the second door that had seemed so far away on his first escape. They walked through it like any other door, but Jaime felt his eyes tear up at seeing the intermediary prison that was for petty offenses. This place had been so long out of reach to him that it may as well have been beyond the Wall.

Then they were through the next door and the chill, night air stung his face, causing tears to spring to his eyes, but he happily gulped in the fresh air, not realizing how foetid the black cells were. However, even despite the moon only being half full, he pinched his eyes against the blazing light.

“Quieter,” Addam whispered. 

Jaime bit his lip to keep his breathing under control. His eyes roamed the area, expecting to see a guard at every turn, but there were none. This didn’t feel right, but he was afraid to say something in case it brought the guards down on them. By the look on Ser Addam’s face, he was perturbed too.

“Just a little further,” Addam’s pace picked up. Jaime could tell that he was trying to lead them beneath the Keep where he and Tyrion had had their clandestine meeting with the help of Bronn. He felt his heart lurch and wanted to stop Addam, but was afraid to.

They turned the corner, heading down into the room with the dragon skulls. Jaime could just see the other stairs leading out and he felt hope for the first time since his capture.

Ser Gregor Clegane stepped out to block their path.

That drew them up short. Jaime felt his mouth go dry and he was certain his heart was about to fail. _ If he’s here… _

“Did you really think you could escape with my brother?”

Cersei walked out from behind the skull of Balerion the Dread, shaking her head in exasperation. All around them, the other members of the Queensguard stepped out from their hiding spots. Qyburn stepped up on the other side of Cersei and there was a bloody wound on his head.

“I would call your effort valiant, but it was quite stupid. Hard to believe I found a man stupider than Jaime. You must be where he got it from,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” Addam whispered to him.

“Ser Osmund, Ser Deric, escort my brother back to his cell.”

The two men stepped up and grabbed Jaime’s arm. Jaime curled his arm back around Addam and Addam in turn held him closer. It took no effort to peel him away.

“Addam, no!” Jaime fought against his captors, but they hauled him away as easily as a bale of hay.

But once Jaime had slipped out of his hands, Addam grabbed his sword. “You can’t win, Cersei.”

“That is _ Queen _ Cersei to you,” she snarled.

“You’ll never be my queen. I would sooner die.”

“All you needed to do was ask,” Cersei said. She looked over at Ser Gregor and nodded. 

Before he lost sight of Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Gregor was approaching with his massive sword unsheathed. Jaime felt his heart plummet and he slumped. Just like that, his only hope and last friend was dead. He was alone in the world.

They threw him unceremoniously back into his cell and left him alone in the pitch darkness once more. He curled up and wrapped his arms around his knees. They’d left him in the clothes that Addam had given him at least. He doubted that would last.

Jaime didn’t have to wait long before he heard the scrape of the door and multiple feet heading down the hallway. He deliberately turned his eyes toward the wall and tension seized his muscles. They arrived all too quickly.

“Really, brother, I knew you were stupid, but to engage in that ridiculous excuse for a plan is insulting. Perhaps you’d like to tell Ser Addam how sorry you are for associating him with your treason.”

Jaime cringed and, against his better judgment, he brought his eyes up to Cersei. Qyburn stood next to him, and in his hand he held Ser Addam’s head by his hair.

“Go on, say your apologies,” Cersei said. 

Qyburn held the head close to him. Addam’s face was twisted in a grimace. Jaime could see now that his salt and pepper hair was more gray than dark.

He unstuck his throat and said, “I am sorry, Ser Addam.”

“For?”

Jaime grimaced and barely managed to catch himself from glaring at Cersei. “I’m sorry for leading you to your death.”

“Close enough,” Cersei said. She nodded at Qyburn and he set the head down on the opposite side of the cell, so that Jaime would be forced to look into its eyes. “I heard you’ve been lonely, Jaime. Now you can be cellmates.”

Cersei crouched down next to him. Jaime wanted to spit into her face at the condescending sneer there. “This is your second time attempting to escape. I’m going to have to punish you. Until the morning, dear brother.” She grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his cheek.

They did not leave any torches, so Jaime was at least spared from having to look Ser Addam’s head in the eye. Yet he would swear he could hear breathing from the other side of the cell.

The morning brought sustenance. Qyburn appeared with a plate that included fresh bread and poached eggs and a cup of water. “You will need your strength, Ser Jaime,” he said with a smug smile.

He eyed the plate with dread. They wanted to make sure he lived through whatever Cersei had planned. He picked the bread up tentatively and bit his lip to keep from moaning at the warmth still emanating from it. His stomach growled so loudly at the welcome sight that it could be heard by Qyburn who chuckled. Under normal circumstances, he’d be tearing into it, but his stomach grew knotted at the thought of what Cersei was planning. He slowly began tearing chunks of bread off and eating it, savoring the fine, warm bread.

After Jaime finished with the bread, Qyburn said, “My patience grows thin, Ser Jaime.”

He picked up speed, forced to use his hands to shove the rest of the food into his mouth. He ate until he was licking the juices off of the plate. The water in the cup was also downed until he was trying to get the last drop. For the first time since he had been captive, he felt sated. The apples had been too much at first, but this had felt about what he needed.

“Bring him.”

There was no point in resisting. He allowed himself to be dragged and he kept swallowing to keep his food down. _ For Brienne, _ he thought again. _ For Brienne. _

Jaime pinched his eyes shut as he was dragged out into the courtyard. It was an overcast day, but the light blinded him and the winter wind whipped at his clothes, causing him to start shivering. It took him a few minutes to adjust to the light, but he could only manage a squint. Cersei was standing in the middle and her Queensguard stood behind her. A crowd of soldiers lined the battlements and the courtyard.

“Take off his shirt and head covering,” Cersei ordered. 

The guards ripped off the woolen hat and split the shirt in two to get him out of it. Jaime curled up on himself but the guards grabbed his arms again. His head was down and he could see how prominently his ribs stuck out; the skin stretched over his bones and hips like a skeleton.

There was a tree trunk in the yard and Jaime was tied so that he was forced to hug it. He closed his eyes so that he couldn’t see the faces of the soldiers staring at him. He could only imagine their disgust at seeing their commander reduced to something so weak and pathetic.

“Jaime Lannister, I sentence you to be flogged five times for your escape attempt,” Cersei ordered.

He felt his heart thumping wildly like an encaged rabbit. He tried to calm the tremble in his muscles with deep breaths, but he couldn’t see who would be doing the flogging. The moment seemed to stretch like a lute string until it finally snapped.

“Commandant Cullen!” Cersei called.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“You shall have the honor of delivering the lashes.”

A murmur shot through the crowd before it fell silent again. Jaime stiffened at the name and tried to focus on his breathing. Commandant Cullen was one of the commonfolk who had risen through the ranks, thanks to his strapping build and good sense. And possibly because of his Lannister looks, with his straw blonde hair and blue eyes. He’d been one of the men that Jaime had supped with while at Riverrun. Despite being stuck in that rainy, miserable hole for a year, he’d had a cheery attitude. It had grated on Jaime at the time, but it kept morale up. Now he was having difficulty imagining Cullen doing something as brutal as whipping.

“I am waiting,” Cersei said with impatience.

The whip bit into his back with a ferocity Jaime had never felt and he bit into his lip so hard to keep from screaming that blood began to trickle down his chin. The wind exacerbated the pain, seeming to tear into the wound. It cracked again and he tried desperately to arch away from it, but there was nowhere to go. Each crack against his skin ripped a scream from his throat. His knees trembled and he could feel himself slipping as his legs failed to hold him.

His eyes were open during the fourth crack and he saw the gathered soldiers flinch. It was slight on some faces, but he was certain he didn’t imagine it.

He nearly sobbed in relief at the fifth crack. The wind sliced him just like the whip and he could feel blood sliding down his back.

“Should anyone else attempt to help my brother in any manner, you will receive the same fate. Except instead of stopping at five, you will be flogged until your spine is exposed for all to see.”

A deadly silence followed Cersei’s pronouncement, broken only by the wind.

“Take him back to his cell and strip him of the rest of his clothes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving your comments yesterday! You rock!
> 
> While this fic is not a Season 8 fix-it, I am going to attempt to fix everything I did not like about S8, specifically some of the wrong-headed characterization.

**Chapter 6**

Brienne stared from the battlements down the Kingsroad to the south. It was nightfall. She had been long dismissed from her rotation as Lady Sansa’s protection. Once she had seen to hers and Pod’s needs, she secluded herself up here, starting the week prior.

She was looking for Jaime.

It had been more than a month since the Dragonpit. She recalled every detail of his fine Lannister armor. None else there had appeared so intimidating, save perhaps Queen Daenerys, but even she had needed her massive black dragon to complete the look. Jaime Lannister didn’t even need his armor. He was haughty, intimidating, and golden. Even Cersei’s beauty was muted by comparison, though that wasn’t helped by her dark dress and newly shorn hair that had originally reached to her waist.

She remembered having trouble keeping her composure at the sight of him whole and healthy. Only Pod knew that there was a pit in her stomach when it was announced that Queen Daenerys had burned the Lannister army alive. Her mouth had gone dry and her legs had begun to shake. It had taken every effort to keep to her feet. 

Lady Sansa had been all smiles of course and this had wounded Brienne. Her Lady had every reason to be pleased; Queen Cersei, her tormentor for far too many years, had just suffered a crushing defeat. It would make anyone happy. Lady Sansa couldn’t know that her sworn shield harbored feelings for the commander of the Lannister army. She had tried to quash those feelings many times. Jaime had Cersei, his lover, the mother of his children. Even with shorn hair, her beauty was paralleled only by Lady Sansa and Queen Daenerys.

Even despite all of this, she had kept her hand on Oathkeeper for the entire week after and rubbed it fondly. All she could think about was the soft smile he had given her when last they met and hear his words:  _ “I’m proud of you.” _ It was only in the safety of her rooms that she allowed herself to weep for him.

Seeing him in the Dragonpit no worse for wear had caused Brienne’s soul to soar. It had taken a great effort to keep her emotions in tight control. The entire meeting, her eyes kept drifting over to him and she felt her heart race when their eyes briefly connected. But in the very next moment, he would look away. He was deliberately avoiding her and it did not escape her the untoward attention that Queen Cersei seemed to pay their small exchanges. 

It was enough to chill Brienne’s excitement at seeing him alive. It was difficult to forget the last time she had spoken with Queen Cersei: she had  _ accused _ her of loving Ser Jaime. Accurately so. Brienne had felt like a trespasser in his and his sister’s relationship and it was not somewhere she wanted to be. She did not lie, so she stayed silent. It was a relief to be out of the Red Keep mere days later.

The negotiations had not gone well in the Dragonpit. Brienne had hoped that her last effort to reach Jaime would have some effect, but he had only glared at her. Their final words to each other were said in anger, but then Cersei had returned and pledged her forces. Brienne could read Jaime well enough that she thought she saw a weight off of his mind.

Satisfied that Jaime would ensure his end of the bargain would be upheld, Brienne and Pod had taken their horses and headed North. It had taken her a month to head back to Winterfell, barely arriving ahead of Queen Daenerys and her forces. Now two weeks after her arrival, she looked to the south, hoping to see the red and gold of the Lannister banners on the horizon. But so far, there had been nothing.

A dread had begun to form in the pit of her stomach again. Surely a raven would have been sent? Although she wasn’t included in the planning of the overall strategy against the Army of the Dead, she was still Lady Sansa’s sworn shield and would have heard if the Lannisters had sent a raven. Yet there had been nothing. When Lady Sansa was safely tucked into her quarters in the evenings, she would voice her thoughts to Brienne and frequently muttered bitterly about the trustworthiness of Cersei.

“Why would she assist her enemies? Cersei has never done a single thing that did not personally benefit her.”

“Surviving a dead army is important for her wellbeing,” Brienne had said.

“But it doesn’t get her anywhere closer to defeating Queen Daenerys or the North,” Sansa had replied in frustration. “No. I’m afraid we’re on our own, Lady Brienne. Whether we win or not, Cersei gets what she wants: our total destruction. Mayhaps the Old Gods have given us the strength that we need to end the Night King once and for all.”

“If we win, we won’t be completely destroyed.” At this point, Brienne was merely going through the motions. She was trying to stay hopeful, but Lady Sansa’s words rang of truth in her heart.

“No, but our forces will be depleted. It leaves us ripe for Cersei to end us.” Lady Sansa sighed. “Thank you for listening. Queen Daenerys and Jon are convinced we can win the day. But I’m not so sure. The Gods know we would be far less sure in our victory were it not for her forces and her dragons. It would be poor form to speak of it in the open. I know you’ll keep my confidence.”

Brienne did keep her confidence, but Lady Sansa’s words now ate at her. Jaime could be smart and ruthless when he needed to be. But he was also honorable and considerate. Cersei had already tried to kill her brother Tyrion. It seemed nothing was beneath her. So in a head-to-head between Jaime and Cersei, who would win?

Jaime was a one-handed knight with a sense of propriety, honor, and a good head for military maneuvers. Cersei was queen, his lover, and she had the formidable Ser Gregor Clegane as a personal Queensguard. By all accounts, since Jaime had returned from Riverrun, he had been doing the queen’s bidding. Would that change under such dire circumstances?

Brienne didn’t know, but it was looking more and more like Jaime had failed them all. The disappointment was palpable as she, and others, continued to stare south in hope of relief.

“I do believe you and I are looking for the same thing.”

Brienne started and looked over. Hand of the Queen Lord Tyrion stood in the doorway with a morose expression on his face.

She didn’t know what to say and simply nodded. “My lord,” she greeted. Her cheeks flushed, but still she turned to the south.

“Jaime has never failed me. He was always there for me, protecting me. If anything, I failed him. But now as the days pass by and the Army of the Dead bears down on us, with no raven in answer, it seems it has finally come to pass that he has failed us all,” Lord Tyrion said, stepping over to stand next to her, only able to see down the road through one of the gaps.

The dwarf heaved a great sigh. “The failure isn’t his alone. That would be our sister’s. He was trying to persuade her to see reason when I went in to bring her back to the pit for negotiations. He told me he’d come North. And I believed him. Cersei suggested that she wanted to send forces North as well. Against my better judgment, I believed her. Circumstances being what they are…”

That sentence grabbed her attention. “What circumstances?”

“Never mind. I thought that Cersei might actually be smart enough to take this opportunity to come to terms with Queen Daenerys. There is only one thing Cersei loves more than power—”

“Ser Jaime.”

Lord Tyrion grimaced. “Maybe,” he said in an unconvincing voice. “I was certain I had her convinced, but apparently there is no appealing to my sweet sister’s sentimental side anymore. Power truly is her first love now.”

Brienne shivered at those words. “They have each other. I suppose that’s all that matters to them.”

Tyrion gave Brienne a wry look. “I know you don’t mean that. You wanted to see my brother just as much as I did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, my Lady, I was at the Dragonpit too. I’m not blind. I saw the way you kept looking at each other. He kept trying to pretend he wasn’t and deliberately kept you at arm’s length, likely for your own safety. Cersei would be the jealous type.”

Brienne’s cheeks were now so flushed with blood, she thought steam might be coming off of them in the cold air. “It’s not like that, Lord Tyrion.”

“Then what is it like? You stopped my brother in his tracks. No one grabs him like that and lives to tell the tale. No one except you. That is high praise from my brother, my Lady. He clearly trusts you. I was in the Keep still when you returned from the Riverlands together. He went to great lengths to assure your safety. You mean something to him and not just as a friend, whatever he may say.”

Could it be? She thought her eyes had been fooling her. Surely she saw only what her heart wanted to see. When she thought back to the tent in the Riverlands, she had only seen that kind of warmth from one other’s eyes before: her father. Both of them had looked at her with soft eyes, their brow crinkled by a smile. The only difference was Jaime’s smile was just a slight upturning of his lips whereas her father’s was wide enough to split his face. Her heart hammered unpleasantly in her chest. Finally, she answered, “Please, Lord Tyrion. We’re only friends.” She turned to leave, to create some distance.

“Wait! I did not mean to pry. I was just hoping to commiserate with a kindred spirit, seeing as you’re the only other person here who has any sort of fondness for my brother. I’ve been told I stick my nose in places I shouldn’t and I see I’ve done that with you. Let’s move on to a safer topic: how’s young Podrick doing?”

Brienne halted in her retreat. At this point, all she wanted to do was hide away in the covers of her bed and treasure those moments she had with Jaime alone. But despite Tyrion’s prying, he had given her new information about Jaime. In spite of her reluctance, her curiosity won out and she returned to stand next to Lord Tyrion.

“Podrick is doing well, my Lord. He should be knighted soon.”

“Amazing. I saw him training the new recruits outside the wall today. He has really come into his own. I remember when he was just a bumbling lad, not even a man-grown yet. He was forced to be squire for someone who wasn’t even close to being a knight. Yet I owe him my life.” When she looked down in the dim evening light, she could see Tyrion’s fond smile.

“Yes, I recall now, he was your squire. Ser Jaime…’gave’ him to me and said every knight needs a squire. I told him I’m no knight.”

She saw the surprise on Tyrion’s face. “Jaime calls a lady a knight when she cannot be a knight. That is high praise. He doesn’t have much fondness for those who are knights.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done well with Podrick, my Lady. He will make a fine knight.”

“It wasn’t—”

They jumped when they heard a crash and they saw two figures brawling in the doorway. Brienne pulled out her sword and rushed over. It was only as she closed in that she recognized the dark gray and brown leathers of Arya.

“My Lady? What—”

Arya sat on the man’s waist and held a knife to his throat, a murderous look on her face. “This man had a bow trained on you! Who are you? Why were you trying to kill Lady Brienne?”

The man spat in her face and she punched him, knocking him unconscious. It was only as Arya got up that Brienne noticed the man was dressed in Northern armor.

“A bow trained on me? You must be mistaken, my Lady. I’m not-I mean, I’m no one of importance.”

“Lady Brienne, you’re a sworn shield of the Starks. You’re Sansa’s line of defence. Maybe they were trying to get you out of the way to have a clear shot at Sansa,” Arya replied.

Brienne blinked at her. She would not have any protection against a bolt or an arrow shot at her head. Perhaps she was the target after all. Her heart leapt into her throat and she hurried off.

“Lady Brienne, wait!”

However, she did not heed either Lord Tyrion or Lady Arya. She barreled through the castle. The two Winterfell guards saw her coming and flinched away from her. 

“Where’s Lady Sansa?” 

“Inside, my Lady. She decided to bathe privately.” 

Brienne pounded on the door.

“My Lady?!” The guards said.

“Lady Sansa, are you in there! I’m coming in,” Brienne commanded and burst through the door. 

Brienne barreled in and she saw Sansa draw her robe close, still dripping from the tub which was now filled with hot water and perfumed smells.

“Lady Brienne, what is the meaning of this?”

“There has been an assassination attempt, my Lady!”

Lady Sansa’s face grew even paler and she drew her mouth into a line. “What has happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“Lady Arya, your sister, caught a man attempting to assassinate either me or Lord Tyrion. I think Lord Tyrion.”

“Cersei,” Sansa whispered and there was a spark of anger in her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“No, my Lady. The assassin never got his shot off.” 

“Where is he now?”

“Lady Arya has rendered him unconscious on the battlement looking south.”

“Call a council meeting right away.” 

“Yes, my Lady!”

In a matter of moments, the leadership were all meeting in the map chambers. Half of the room was already dressed in their night clothes. Judging by the way Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys were exchanging awkward looks, they had been preparing for other activities. Only Lord Tyrion, Lord Varys, Lord Bran, and herself were still dressed in their daywear. 

“Lady Brienne came to me just a few minutes ago to report an assassination attempt on Lord Tyrion or herself. Considering the targets, I think it’s clear to be from one source: Cersei,” Lady Sansa opened. She leveled a cool stare at Jon. “Not only is she not fulfilling her end of the bargain, but she appears to wish to pick us off one-by-one.”

“Damn it! I made it clear to her!” Jon slammed a fist on the table.

“Jon, how many times did I tell you not to trust a word out of Cersei’s mouth?”

“It’s my fault as well,” Daenerys replied, her lips thin with anger. “I should’ve just taken the city while I was down there.”

“No,” Bran spoke up. “If you had lingered in the south, the Night King would’ve taken Winterfell. It’s best that you came North right away, even without Queen Cersei’s forces. Now is not the time to address this. The Night King will be upon us in three days time. We have to prepare for his arrival.”

The announcement had taken the breath out from all of them as they stared at Bran. When the next person finally breathed, the spell was broken and everyone began exchanging looks of varying degrees of panic. To everyone’s credit, no one became frenzied.

“Very well, we shall address this afterwards when it comes time to make our assault on King’s Landing,” Queen Daenerys stated.

“Wait, Bran,” Lady Arya spoke up, staring at Bran intently. “You saw this assassin coming, didn’t you? That’s why you sent me up there to summon Lady Brienne.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So it stands to reason that you will see other assassinations,” Queen Daenerys whispered. There was a combination of awe and fear on her face.

“Yes.”

“Why Lady Brienne?” Lady Arya asked. “Was it really to get to Sansa?”

“Afterwards,” Bran said. “You will know after the Battle for the Dawn. Prepare yourselves!” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, your comments and your kudos! I greatly appreciate it. Yet another break from the torture, though there are still some grisly details in there.

**Chapter 7**

Cersei sighed as she slid into the tub of steaming water. The days continued to get brisker and chillier as Winter began to further take root. _They can defeat the Army of the Dead,_ _but winter still comes all the same,_ Cersei thought. A small smile came to her lips as she thought about the Northern cunts starving to death without the much-needed supply line of the south.

The dragon bitch and the North had lost half of their forces defeating the dead. But both dragons were still alive. One was injured, but otherwise whole. Cersei clenched her fist and then relaxed. No point dwelling on what would have been.

She turned her head to a fleet of servants waiting in the wings. “Begin,” she said simply. An older woman with her scraggly hair tied back and a sloping, wrinkled face approached her and then slid her hands on her shoulders. It had taken some time getting used to an ugly woman with gnarled hands massaging her body, but she would admit to the woman having a gift with those awful hands. She leaned back and sighed as the hands began digging and soothing the tension from her shoulders.

The putrid little dove Sansa who so clearly wanted to be her was now forced to bow and scrape to yet another queen. There was amusement in that if nothing else. 

In the next moment, her amusement faded. The ugly beast of a woman who loved her brother had survived her assassination attempt. The damn fool had allowed himself to be caught before he could even get a shot off. It was only a matter of time before they knew it was her if they didn’t know already.

Cersei sighed. She had really been looking forward to presenting Jaime her head like she had with Ser Addam Marbrand. Then again, she wasn’t sure that would be such a good idea. Ser Addam Marbrand’s head had eventually begun to attract rats that slipped through the food flap to gnaw at the decaying flesh. At one point they tried to gnaw on Jaime. He had eaten one of the rats, whole and raw. She shuddered just thinking about it and felt a wave of nausea roll over her, but she forced it under control.

The rat had made him sick and for the first time, Cersei debated whether to let Jaime out of his cell. Certainly not free. She needed him alive for the seed he provided, but the cold damp of the cell could only make the sickness worse. She had settled with a compromise of allowing his cell to be covered so thickly in blankets that he was cocooned in them. 

It had taken a few weeks of care and decent meals for him to recover, but she wasn’t entirely convinced that the fever hadn’t burned away what was left of his mind. He barely acknowledged her anymore, so lost in a wild fantasy. She felt the smallest spark of pity the first time she entered his cell after his sickness to fuck him.

Fucking him was wholly unnecessary now. Her hand ghosted to her stomach and she rubbed it soothingly. His seed had finally taken root. She was nearly two moons along. Her first order of business had been to fuck Euron the night he returned with the Golden Company. The stupid pirate had apparently been without a good fuck in a while because he spilt almost the moment he slid into her, nearly going into convulsions of pleasure while on top of her. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, but it did make her long for Jaime. Their trysts, for so long, had always been quick, but even Jaime lasted longer than that. He knew how to hit the right spot that could, on occasion, send her spiraling into orgasm. Seven Hells, he could do it even emaciated and chained to a wall without actively participating. Why he couldn’t see how utterly complete they were together was beyond her.

At any rate, she couldn’t quite let go of her twin, her other half. If her conjoining with Euron proved anything, she would have to put up with inadequate fucking for the rest of her life otherwise. She also couldn’t risk actually bringing a Greyjoy into the world. It had taken far too many fuckings—nearly half a year’s worth—to become pregnant again. None of the other times held in her womb. 

And just like that, the thought of her shriveled womb seized her in fear. Her singular value of bringing children into the world was almost at an end. It normally wouldn’t have bothered her were her other children still alive, but they had fallen like trees in a storm. Her babies. She whimpered as Joffrey’s cunning smile rose to the fore of her mind. He had been a strong king, a marvel of beauty and grace. Cut down far too short in his time as king. Yes, he was quick to temper, but he would’ve settled with age and wisdom. He was the best of them all and now he was merely ash on the streets of King’s Landing since she’d destroyed the Sept of Baelor.

He had deserved better. Tommen and Myrcella had deserved better. But she had allowed too much weakness and influence into their lives. Jaime barely even interacted with the children, yet this irritating weakness that he had been hiding had somehow found its way into Tommen. Even then it was too much. But now Jaime was secluded far beyond the reach of anymore children she produced.

The next child would be better. He would be the best of them all. All she needed was time.

However, time was running short. Without the threat of the Army of the Dead to distract the dragonbitch and her ball-less puppy, Jon Snow, they were going to turn in her direction. It took only six weeks to march south. By her predictions, they would be at King’s Landing in about two months.

In order to have a chance, they needed to take out the dragons. She had ordered the creation of scorpions to outfit each ship in the Ironborn fleet and what the Golden Company had brought. The carpenters in King’s Landing were happy with the order. Few else were. 

Riots became a weekly ordeal. Not that she saw them. She only heard about them from Qyburn and the Captain of the Goldcloaks. It was a simple matter of dumping wildfire on the offenders, but though that eliminated some, it didn’t eliminate all. 

People had also tried to leave in droves. If she had allowed that, the city would’ve been empty in days. The gates were locked and heavily guarded at all times. No one was allowed to leave or come in. Yet she continued to hear whispers from Qyburn of more people sneaking out by night.

She had a feeling it had to do with the army.

Her shoulders tensed despite the magic work of the old woman’s hands. For the first time in her father’s gloried history, the Lannister army was unruly. How her father would frown over their current lack of discipline. He would never tolerate it and neither would she. Two of the captains had been stripped of their rankings as well as the skin covering their spine. She always made sure the superior punished his own captains. A period of quiet would befall the army after each flogging, but then they stirred again like hornets preparing for an attack.

They were about due for another flogging.

Cersei couldn’t understand it. She was the Lannister, the only heir left, yet the army seemed unable—no, unwilling—to heed her. Qyburn had informed her that his little birds had heard whispers from the soldiers about ‘Lord Jaime.’ The first time she heard that, it was enough to inspire the first flogging. Jaime was a traitor! He was imprisoned as traitors deserved! He was no longer heir.

The first captain she condemned was tied to two posts so that he was unable to slump as his spine was laid bare. Cersei made Commandant Cullen whip this one as well. It amused her to see him so obviously pained at hurting his underlings. In some respects, he reminded her of Jaime: handsome, stupid, and soft. How a man so soft had become commandant, she’d never guess. Clearly, Jaime’s weakness had penetrated the army in his promotion tendencies. She would have to fix that. But for now, she would amuse herself with breaking him as surely as she was breaking Jaime. 

Once the man’s back was flayed open, she stepped in front of the soldiers. Her voice echoed around the silent courtyard: “Jaime is not the heir. He is a traitor. He betrayed me, he betrayed House Lannister, and he betrayed you! I am now the heir. The only recognized Lannister left. You owe your allegiance to me! Only I will see you through safely past the dragon queen. They will see you dead. Now, you will forget about Jaime and follow me. I wouldn’t recommend testing my patience.”

She smirked at the dead silence that had followed her as she returned to the keep. The captain remained tied to the posts for five days before she finally ordered him cut down, insisting the soldiers in his former command be the ones to cut him down and remove his body. He was thrown into Blackwater Bay with all of the rest of the dissidents.

The water had been growing chill as Cersei reminisced and she grimaced at the cold air that enveloped her as she stood. “You? Assist me,” she commanded. The young maid hurried over and held out a hand. Cersei gripped it and deliberately squeezed it painfully as she climbed out. The girl’s lips trembled and Cersei thought she could see the shine of tears in her eyes, but otherwise she didn’t flinch. She was a good bitch, well-trained.

_ Why can’t Jaime be more like her? _ Even before she dropped him into the black cells, she had been training him like a dog her whole life. Her cunt was the treat and he had leapt to do her bidding for a chance at spilling his seed into her. He had been so faithful, so loyal. But then that beastly woman had somehow undone all of her work in a matter of months and her brother returned to her a cripple. He was useless now. 

But as her children were cut down before her eyes, she realized that she still had a need for him. He had been growing distant as time went on. She really hadn’t needed a reason to throw him into the black cells, but his near declaration to commit treason was enough for those at court to agree that he needed dealt with.

When Cersei visited him for the first time, she had expected him to come crawling to her, begging to be let free and groveling at her feet as he normally did. Yet even after a week of starvation, he remained defiant and his words were cutting. Fucking him had seemed to take the spirit out of him as she remembered leaving him as a listless pile of limbs. But somehow he had managed to find his courage once more in the dark. Despite beating him, despite starving him, despite humiliating him, and despite fucking him, he still did not want to bend.

It was truly baffling to her. Then again, he was her twin, still a Lannister by blood. He had strength. Maybe there was a spark of a lion in there after all, but he still hadn’t broken to her satisfaction. 

Cersei drew in a shuddering breath as she was dried down and then handed her plush, white ermine fur robe. “Leave,” she said simply and all of the maidens filed out. She curled up on the cold bed. Jaime should’ve been here waiting for her, warming her bed.

She hadn’t wanted him to stay in the black cells forever. Fucking him on the cold, hard stone floor was not something she wanted to entertain even once, but it was necessary. Eventually, he was to be moved to a tower cell with the complete luxuries of his former room. He would simply lack the freedom of movement. She had only wanted to break him, mold him into the pliable prick she needed for her future brood. Maybe then they’d both enjoy fucking again.

However, Jaime was now barely cognizant of his surroundings, but he was defiant when he wanted to be. Qyburn and some of the guards had reported hearing conversations where Jaime seemed to think he was speaking to their father or Tyrion, or even the great beast of a woman Brienne. He needed more slaps and harder ones too to remind him of the cell that was his life.

He never participated in the fucking once he’d been thrown in the cell. He didn’t plead—for anything. Not food, not warmth, not clothes, or her forgiveness. Perhaps she was going about his breaking the wrong way. Qyburn had repeated to her that Jaime was convinced he was going to die there, even though she had told him from the start that he was to stand at stud for her for years to come. She had thought that threatening to kill the beastly Brienne would bring him to heel, but he continued to be willful. And he had tried to escape his confines twice! If she gave an inch, he would take a mile. Just a little longer and she was convinced that Jaime would become like clay in her hands once more. 

She’d left him alone long enough to recover from his sickness. It was time to pay him a visit and remind him that he was hers to do with as she pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you all so much for reading, your Kudos, and your comments! It warms the heart! Even though this isn't explicitly a Season 8 "fix-it," I still fix some things. I hope you all enjoy!**

**Chapter 8**

Brienne trailed Lady Sansa as she strode through Winterfell. Her Lady was offering kind smiles and a warm hand, no matter the person’s status. There was an air of frivolity to Winterfell, the day after the feast that was held for the victory of the dawn. 

Against all odds, they had triumphed. Were it not for Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons that kept both the dead and the Night King at bay, they would’ve been overrun in an instant. While Brienne would never discount the efforts of the men who fought under her—a woman of all things!—their efforts had been like trying to stop a plague of locusts with hollow reeds. 

Now, as they found themselves in front of the weirwood tree, Lady Sansa sat on her knees and bowed her head.“There are times that I wondered if the Gods existed,” She said after praying. “Now I am convinced that they ensured the dragons arrived at Winterfell in time.”

Brienne looked at the dried and uncanny face of the weirwood and felt a muscle work in her jaw. Would their power work for Ser Jaime as it had worked for them? 

It was impossible to dislodge him from her mind. Not after Lord Bran had mentioned him being taken prisoner by his own sister. She had managed to push thoughts of him aside long enough to fight the Long Night at least. The immediacy of the danger and the inevitable end had kept her swinging and active, but Jaime lived at the back of her thoughts and his presence urged her on. 

She had been among the fortunate. There was a deep bruise in her side that gave her a slight limp, a black eye, and a split lip, but otherwise she had managed. She had thanked every single one of the Seven Gods in her prayers that Podrick had made it out too. He took a wound to the head that bled profusely. He seemed touch-and-go for a time, but finally pulled through. He would be getting out of bed soon. 

There were many more who were less fortunate: Theon Greyjoy, Ser Beric Dondarrion, Ser Jorah Mormont, and Tormund Giantsbane. She wouldn’t deny being at least marginally relieved that she would no longer have to put up with the great ginger’s leering looks. He had been the primary reason she slept with her hand under her pillow, curled around a knife each night. Gilly had explained to her that the wildling way to claim a woman was to sneak up on them in the middle of the night and have their way with her. She hoped that Jon Snow would never allow such a thing, but the tales of wildlings beyond the Wall had made her paranoid. 

Her fears seemed ridiculous in hindsight. Apart from the assassination attempt by Cersei—and she still wasn’t convinced that was for her—not a soul had attempted to harm her here. The North wasn’t perfect, but there were far fewer sneers that greeted her here than anywhere else. 

The Lyanna Mormont always seemed happy to bestow a smile upon her in spite of her otherwise fierce reputation. She had spent the Long Night in the crypts at her cousin’s pleading, but became a heroine in her own right, fighting the dead that rose to besiege the innocents down there. She had practically sauntered out once the stone door was removed from the crypt; her face was bloodied, but her smile was triumphant. Everybody there sang her praises, from Lady Sansa to Missandei.

And then there was Lady Arya, who had fought through the White Walkers with another group of men, and slipped the Night King a Valyrian steel knife between his ribs. The Song of the Heroines Against the Dawn was sang just as readily as any other hero song. Being a part of the song caused Brienne to flush to her chest, but it secretly pleased her to have earned some respect doing what she loved and was so able at.

She should have been happy, but a deep melancholy accompanied her with every waking moment and even some sleeping ones. She could not be at peace, she could not crow her victory, until she knew the fate of Ser Jaime. Lord Bran had mentioned that she would know more after the battle, but it had been two weeks hence and he had yet to spill a word. Was she supposed to seek him out?

Despite all of her courage, he made her nervous. Brienne had been there to hear him speak of things he shouldn’t know. It had convinced her that he could read her very thoughts if he tried and she was not keen to give him that opportunity. She still felt foolish. He had only ever used his powers for good. Cornering Lord Baelish and executing him had been good, telling them of the Night King’s whereabouts had been good, and now, hopefully, he would shed light on how best to remove Queen Cersei.

As she stood in front of the weirwood tree with Lady Sansa, she silently spoke a quick prayer:  _ Please keep Ser Jaime safe. He deserves to live. Let him not succumb to his sister’s evil. _ She would never dare to say it out loud. Lord Tyrion had been right when he said no one else liked him.

“It’s almost time for supper,” Lady Sansa said. “We should head back in.”

“Sansa!” Lady Arya came walking briskly over to them. “A man just arrived, claiming to be from King’s Landing. He says he has news on Cersei and is willing to spill for a price.”

Lady Sansa and Brienne both perked up. “Where is he now?”

“In the small council room. We’re getting everyone together.”

“Alone?”

Lady Arya gave her sister a mocking look. “You know me better than that.”

“I don’t doubt you, Arya.” There was a flicker across her face, but she didn’t say anything.

“Jon’s not that foolish,” Lady Arya replied with no small amount of annoyance.

“He’s too trusting.”

“Cersei sent an assassin up here. He knows better now.”

“I hope so,” Lady Sansa muttered. “Come! Let’s see what he has to say.”

Brienne released a trembling breath and felt her heart pick up speed. The assassin Cersei had sent had ended up dying in the Battle for the Dawn and rose with the rest of the undead. The cell was empty after having been torn open and the body was eventually found and burned with the rest. The man had refused to talk much to Brienne’s dissatisfaction, but it wasn’t that surprising. Perhaps now, though, she would finally get some answers.

She followed Lady Sansa into the councilroom this time. Though her lady raised an eyebrow in surprise, she refrained from saying anything. A scraggly man with a goatee sat at the table, wolfing down boiled chicken and potatoes. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

“Ser Bronn,” her Lady said in a carefully neutral tone.

“Oh, aye, I remember you,” he said once he swallowed. The two guards surrounding him shifted and he gave them a cock-eyed look. “M’lady. You were Tyrion’s lady wife.”

“Were,” is all Sansa said and she eyed him suspiciously. 

Soon Queen Daenerys, Jon Snow, Lord Bran, and Lord Varys had joined them. Lord Tyrion was the last to walk through the door and he gave Ser Bronn a considering look. “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater! When I was told a man came demanding payment for information, I had a feeling it was you. I know of no one else so bold.”

“You know this man?” Queen Daenerys asked. Brienne thought there might have been suspicion in her eyes.

“I do. He served me as my sworn shield in the Red Keep. Even saved my life a time or two.”

“Is he trustworthy?” Jon Snow asked.

“If you pay me enough,” Ser Bronn interjected.

Tyrion sighed. “As long as I was paying, yes. Now what—”

“I’m not saying a damn thing until we’ve come to a deal,” Ser Bronn shot back.

“Watch your tongue, retch,” Grey Worm snapped.

Tyrion waved them all down. “No need to be testy, anyone” He glared at Bronn though there was little fire behind it. “What shall it be now?”

“Oh no, I’m not bargainin’ with you. You shorted me once and now your cunt of a brother has shorted me twice. I deal with her.”

“Careful, ser knight,” Daenerys began, “or you shall be dealing with my dragons. I have much to offer for the right information, but I won’t stand to be played false. Now, what is it you want? Gold? A high place in my army?”

“A castle. I want a bastard castle already!”

“That doesn’t sound so unreasonable.”

“Oh no, name that castle, now. I ain’t spillin’ for nothin’ less than promise of somethin’ specific.”

“The tree of nobility has been pruned back by quite a lot in these recent years,” Tyrion said, looking at his queen. “Many castles stand empty. I don’t see why you couldn’t give him one.”

There was a pause as everyone thought. Brienne saw Lady Sansa wrinkle her nose; she was clearly hoping Ser Bronn wouldn’t become a lord in the North.

Tyrion pondered for a moment and he said, “I have an idea. The Twins have sat empty since Lord Frey and every last one of his male heirs met...their unfortunate ends. It needs a lord, someone we can trust.”

“It’s a toll bridge, Lord Tyrion, and you’d put a  _ sellsword _ in charge of it?” 

“A knight! I am a knight!”

There was no mistaking the disgust on Lady Sansa’s face. “He has fully admitted to being bought. He could just as easily open the bridge for any other enemy to march North.”

“He can’t be any worse than old Lord Walder Frey,” Tyrion replied.

Both Sansa and Arya got the same look of fury on their face. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but Queen Daenerys interjected, “But he won’t betray us. Otherwise, I will torch him for his treachery. And Ser Bronn? I best not hear of you committing extortion or I shall take it back just as easily. Are we in agreement?”

Ser Bronn hesitated.

“I know you are a reasonable man, Ser Bronn. The bridge will offer you all of the income you have dreamed of. A fine prize in the Riverlands,” Tyrion said.

The knight glanced around the room taking the measure of it. Jon Snow and the guards were tensed with their hands resting on the hilt of their swords. Grey Worm was watching him with grim suspicion and Brienne was certain he had a weapon on him somewhere.

“Alrigh’, fine! But I better get me damn castle.”

“You can claim it when we march south to King’s Landing,” Tyrion said, his voice exasperated. “Now tell us what you know!”

“Yer sister’s fookin’ mad.”

“We know that already. Come now, Bronn,” Tyrion urged.

“She sent Greyjoy to Essos to get the Golden Company.”

“How can she possibly afford that?”

“From lootin’ Highgarden. Your brother gave me summa that gold. I lost it on the battlefield.”

“Don’t expect me to compensate you for that,” Daenerys replied in a dry tone. “If that’s all you have, then I’m not sure an entire castle is worth that.”

Bronn glared at her and then turned to Tyrion again. “Yer sister is driving all her allies away. Keep yer ear to the ground and ya hear some interestin’ things. The Lannister army is no longer loyal to her.”

Tyrion cocked his head. “Really now? That  _ is _ interesting. Why?”

“For what she did to yer brother. Is doin’. Wotever.”

Tyrion seemed to stop breathing and his eyes went wide. “We...we had heard that something happened to Jaime. An assassin attempted to make corpses out of me and Lady Brienne. Why?”

“Anyone with half an eye can see he moons over her,” Bronn replied, nodding in her direction. “Yer sister didn’ like that.”

Brienne felt heat flush her face as the others glanced over at her curiously.  _ Ser Bronn is just riling me up. Don’t believe it, you fool, _ she berated herself. 

“What’s she doing to him?” Tyrion demanded.

“Torturin’ him. He tried to ride off after the meet in the Dragonpit. Word was we was goin’ North to help you lot with this fight with the dead, but she put a stop to it and he didn’ like that. So he went anyway.”

Tears sprang to Brienne’s eyes and it took everything in her to blink them back.  _ He kept his word after all. But at what cost? You fool, _ she chastised herself,  _ he’s suffering now because of you. _ Why did she have to apply so much pressure?  _ Desperate. I was desperate. We thought we needed the Lannister army, _ she mused.  _ We didn’t and now he suffers daily because of my stupidity. I know his sister hates me. How could I not see it? _ She swallowed back her tears and focused on Ser Bronn like a hawk.

“...my brother actually left her?”

“Aye, that he did, for all the good it did him. Her Queensguard hauled him back. At her command, they stripped him naked in the courtyard and threw him in the Black Cells.”

It took everything Brienne had to swallow the sob in her throat, but her hands were beginning to tremble.

“Is he alive?” Tyrion whispered.

“He was when I left. Prolly wishes he was dead.”

When Tyrion spoke next, his voice was shaking, “What made you finally leave?”

“An old captain of the Goldcloaks, Marband or somethin’—”

“Ser Addam Marbrand?!” Tyrion asked with an aghast look.

“Aye, that’s ‘im. He tried to spring yer brother from the cells. That big fucker killed him and she had yer brother whipped bloody in front of the Lannister army. They hate her for that. Anyway, I knew then that no one associated with yer brother was safe, so I fucked off. No castle or gold is worth my life when a mad bitch like that’s in charge. Fuck ‘er!”

Brienne couldn’t keep the sob she’d been holding from escaping. Only Sansa seemed to notice and her Lady put a hand on her arm and squeezed it.

Tryion was wavering on his feet at this point, his face ashen and his bottom lip trembled. He worked his jaw for a moment.

“That’s not good enough,” Daenerys finally said.

“Wha—?” Tyrion blinked at her.

“I care not about your brother or what he suffers. He is the Kingslayer. He is responsible for the murder of my father. His betrayal is what aided the rest of my family to perish. His fate makes little difference to me, though I dearly hope to sentence him for his crimes against my family.”

Brienne felt her heart plummet in her chest.  _ There were no good directions for Jaime. Come North and die or stay south and die, _ she thought and felt her heart clench.  _ He can die with honor and mayhap that will be enough. _ But just like a knife had been plunged to her breast, she had to bite her lip as though someone had twisted it.  _ I really was a fool to think that we could’ve ever found ourselves on the same side, comrades once more. _

“If it’s not a bother my Lady, I must recuse myself,” she whispered to Lady Sansa. Her lady swam before her eyes as she struggled to keep her tears in check.

Sansa was looking at her with what she thought might be understanding and pity. “Of course, Brienne,” she whispered back and squeezed her arm again in comfort.

Brienne left without hesitation. Lord Varys had spoken up as they seemed to debate the worth of Ser Bronn’s information, but she did not care. Jaime was suffering in a lone black cell, far from anyone. His death was inevitable. It was just a matter of which queen he succumbed to.

When Brienne prayed and wept for him in the safety of her room, it was for death to come swiftly and relieve his pain. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you need something a bit less depressing, I started posting a two-parter that shows how Jaime and Brienne would've worked out after the Battle for the Dawn. It's called _The Chill of New Spring_.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! Thank you all so much for reading, giving kudos, and your comments. It means the world to me.
> 
> **Warning**: This is **the** darkest chapter of the fic. There's even more violence and while it's not particularly graphic, it's still pretty visceral. But this the darkest; it can only go up from here. Enjoy!

**Chapter 9**

Jaime no longer lived in the cell, but in the very depths of his own mind. He no longer felt the cold, the hunger, or thirst since he had perfected the technique of going away inside. 

After Ser Addam was killed, Jaime had huddled miserably, his back seemingly on fire, in the cell trying to ignore the chittering of the rats that chewed on his friend’s face. It had taken everything he had not to scream himself hoarse so that he wouldn’t have to hear them gnawing on flesh. At first Qyburn and Cersei had appeared to be amused at Jaime having to suffer with what had to be a dozen large rats that had slipped in through the slot in the door where he was delivered food. But once they’d eaten most of Ser Addam’s face, they began looking at him as a food source. He ate one for its curiosity. His rage, pain, and the gnawing ache of his stomach left little room in his head for doubt as he grabbed the first interloper and slammed it to the ground, taking a grim satisfaction in hearing it screech in pain. 

Once it stopped riggling, he didn’t hesitate to dig his teeth into it. It was the first warm meal he’d had since he’d been thrown down here and the visceral satisfaction he felt at filling his belly left him content for the first time in months. He looked forward to doing it to the next rat that dared approach. 

He also wouldn’t forget Qyburn coming down and faltering at seeing the blood dripping from his mouth and on his chest. They once again moved him into the cell across the hall and he listened to the shrill screeches of the rodents as he imagined a guard beating them all to death. When he was moved back into the cell, the rats were gone and Ser Addam’s head had been removed. He wondered if they were going to clean it of the remnants of skin and brain and give him back the skull for company.

Just as Lord Tywin and Brienne joined him in his cell at times, Ser Addam now sat opposite him where his skull used to reside and there was a furious disappointment on his face.

“You could’ve ended this years ago, Jaime. That I ever thought there was anything to salvage about you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “You are truly lost.”

Jaime had nothing to say and simply kept his head buried in his knees. 

“You’re pathetic,” Brienne had said. “To think I admired you once. You have no honor. No courage. You’re just like all the other men who allow themselves to be led around by their cocks. You are nothing and deserve to be remembered as the incestuous father of bastards who murdered a king.”

“As I have been saying all along,” Lord Tywin chimed in. “You have done nothing with your life and at this point never will. You may as well die.

“I can’t die. I can’t die. Brienne, you’ll die if I do. I have to stay alive. I have to. I have to.”

Qyburn had woken him up out of the chanting and he blinked his eyes blearily. There was a blurriness to his vision and his eyes seemed more encrusted and weeping than usual. His usual pounding headache from thirst was even harsher and it felt like a hammer was going to break open his skull. He felt a fiery heat in his face like he had been burned in the sun and immediately turned over to vomit.

“Ser Jaime, can you hear me? Look at me?” He felt slaps on his cheek but they felt so far away it may as well have been happening to another person. 

Jaime didn’t remember much, but he was certain he was going to die. The next thing he could recall was being bundled in blankets and had more food and water forced down his throat. It seemed to happen with more regularity. That occurrence would’ve been intriguing to him, but he couldn’t focus on anything. He seemed to float in and out of consciousness like he was surfacing from being underwater and then sinking back into it again.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in that state as with any other passage of time in the black cells. At one point, he sank into his memories. Most of them were bad. He recalled trying to keep from whimpering and crying as a child when his father smacked him again for failing to read the passage back to him properly.

In his zealotry to be a good swordsman, he had challenged a squire when he was merely eight to a duel. He got hit so hard in the face, it had knocked out two of his baby teeth. The poor squire was stripped of his squireship and flogged for his trouble. This was the first time Jaime had been brave enough to talk back to his father.

_ “Why did you do that?! I challenged him! How can I possibly get better if my challengers are too scared to even poke me?” _

That had ended with his own father slapping him in the face to which young Jaime bitterly stated,  _ “You need to flog yourself now.” _

Apart from the black eye his father gave him, he was given chores that kept him busy when he was not in his lessons with the Maester and then forced to remain in his room for an entire month. It took until Jaime himself was nearly a squire before the bitterness from that encounter had finally bled away; he had been reminded of it every time the boys around him shied away from him like horses. Even Addam hadn’t been brave enough to fight him and they had been the same age.

A red hot fury stole over Jaime at the memory and for the first time since he’d been thrown into the black cells, he was warm. He lashed out at somebody in that confused time. He was certain it was his father Tywin. But he was dead. However, after that singular moment of clarity he had fallen underwater again and remained there.

The rage made him feel alive, so as soon as he had some clarity again, he went in search of more moments of rage. Prominent among those times was challenging Lord Stark in the streets of King’s Landing. He thrived on that rage. The first half of it had been fury on behalf of his brother whom Lady Stark had made prisoner and the other half was the disgust at one of his own soldiers deliberately crippling Lord Stark. He  _ hated _ being given an advantage in a battle. He would sooner prefer to fight against overwhelming odds than be given a fight on a silver platter.

His whole life he’d had only one thing to completely call his own, that was not handed to him by the circumstances of his birth or whom his father happened to be: his skills as a swordsman. He imagined there were some who would argue that he may not have thrived so were it not for the best Master of Arms that coin could buy, but he squired for Lord Crakehall. He was a passable knight and even a decent swordsman, but even before he’d landed the future heir to Casterly Rock as his squire, Jaime’s skills had already surpassed him. As a budding man of five-and-ten, he’d held off the Smiling Knight and saved his own knight from almost certain death. Ser Arthur Dayne himself had awarded him his knighthood for that endeavor.

There was no denying that he had earned his knighthood outright. An upstanding Kingsguard like Ser Arthur Dayne would not be bought by all the gold in Casterly Rock. His knighthood was his own achievement.

And then he had promptly sullied it by allowing himself to be convinced by his sister to forsake his heirloom and become Kingsguard to a madman. He drove the nail into the coffin of his short-lived knighthood by then killing the mad bastard. He was not stripped of his title, but it didn’t matter. Everyone knew he was no longer a knight, no longer someone who could be trusted. Were it not for his father, everyone who came into contact with him would’ve been sullied for it. He’d even heard rumors that he had somehow misled, bribed, or simply outsmarted Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, into knighting him. 

Hearing the poor knight’s name being muddied for his involvement in raising Jaime up was enough to make Jaime want to kill, but he never was able to pinpoint who started those rumors. Instead, he confronted the rumormongers with enough vicious threats to ensure Ser Arthur’s name was never mentioned in anything but glowing terms since. At least not within his earshot.

The rage and anger he felt at all of this sustained him. When next he emerged out of his water-logged brain, it was to Qyburn gently slapping him awake again. He cracked his eyes open and then closed them again, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion and he trembled like a kitten, huddling in the blankets he’d been given.

“Good dog. It would’ve been most unfortunate for your lady friend Brienne of Tarth if you had succumbed to your illness,” Qyburn said to him with a twisted smile.

Jaime didn’t have the energy to dredge up any anger on Brienne’s behalf and simply laid there, his mind set to drift once more.

He was forced awake to have a watery stew shoved down his throat.

“Enjoy those blankets while you can. They’ll be gone when next I return,” Qyburn said.

He huddled down further into them in response. The next time he opened his eyes he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor as the blankets were pulled out from under him. He scrambled and swiped for them only to get a boot in the ribs for his effort. He was left with nothing, same as when he was first thrown down into the black cells. Was Cersei going to deprive him of a blanket once more? She had relented once because he was certain she hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of fucking a corpse.

To beat the chill, Jaime threw his mind back into his memories once more and landed on the back of the horse tied to Brienne. His hand had been removed and was now hung around his neck. He vaguely recalled while living the memory, that the pain from his hand had been all-consuming and nearly wiped out all of his other senses. Yet, now, when he thought back to it he felt the strong surface of Brienne’s back against his own. He took comfort in her presence now.

Jaime chuckled.  _ That I would sooner endure the indignity of losing my hand again if it meant being near Brienne, _ he thought. Though he was sure she despised him now, this Brienne didn’t. Well, she despised him less.

_ “We can get through this, Kingslayer. Live and fight!” _

“Okay, Brienne, I will,” he whispered to himself, feeling himself sway dizzily on the horse.

“Ser Jaime, eat your breakfast,” Qyburn growled at him. 

It was the failed maester as he was at Harrenhal. Jaime shuddered at seeing his greasy smile and keen eyes. Stew-soaked bread was shoved into his mouth and he fought to swallow it down as Qyburn used it to pry his jaws apart. Roose Bolton’s pale unnerving eyes seemed to watch with satisfaction at his treatment. He could see Brienne reaching for her fork, but he waved his good hand to settle her down.

He began breathing hard like he was struggling for breath and he emerged from the warm waters of the baths under Harrenhal. Brienne was looking at him with unfailing concern and he could see she had been primed ready to leap for him again.

“If I go under again, will you save me?” It almost sounded playful. He was ready to drown himself again to feel Brienne’s strong arms around him.

She didn’t get a chance to answer.

A stinging slap disturbed the vision like a stone being skipped over water. He cracked his eyes open to see Cersei crouched over him with a disgusted sneer on her flawless face. “Awaken, brother! You’ve been slumbering long enough.” 

“Not to me,” he mumbled; his eyes closed and his head listed to one side.

“I can fuck you whether you’re awake or not. Your body knows what it wants,” she snarled. 

Once more, revolting feelings of pleasure crawled across his skin and he cringed against them, taking refuge once more in his mind.

_ “Go away inside. They can’t hurt you there,” _ he heard himself telling a panicked Brienne. 

Then she was there, standing in that grotesque pink dress watching him with yearning as he retreated with the party that was to escort him to King’s Landing. He left her in the den of the vile mercenary Vargo Hoat, yet, still, she was resolute. 

Jaime felt his breath pick up as he hustled the horse back to Harrenhal. He had to save her; somehow, he couldn’t be without her. He would surely die without her. She was in the bear pit with her wooden sword raised facing the grizzly bear. Jaime looked at Vargo Hoat and did a doubletake. A ball of cloth was wadded up where his ear used to be and the fringes of it were pink with soaked blood.

_ “The bloody bitch damn well tore his ear off,” _ Locke said. 

_ Vargo Hoat tried to rape Brienne and she bit his ear off to prevent it.  _ The idea struck him like lightning. When he blinked his eyes, his vision was clear for the first time in ages. Cersei was riding him. She would almost be beautiful in the torchlight that flickered across her face. She noticed him staring and smiled. A true smile. One he remembered from before she became queen. 

“There you are. See? This isn’t so bad. It doesn’t have to—”

He lunged for her. She startled and tried to pull back but he latched on.

A piercing, undeniably female scream filled his ears and reverberated around the cell. Cersei was pulled back out of his reach, but he could see the raw gaping wound he had left in her cheek. He spat out the blood and flesh between his teeth. Qyburn and a guard pulled Cersei away, her screams giving away to pained moans and sobs.

Jaime’s laugh was a wheezing rasp, but there was no mistaking his delight. “Imperfect, now, just like me,” he whispered between his chuckles. 

A Queensguard came to stand in front of him, his sheathed sword in his hand. Jaime peered up at him in amusement. He didn’t even see the blow, only felt it as the sheath was brought down as hard as possible across his face. His nose cracked and a searing wave of pain overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t find his voice. Another blow and darkness enveloped his vision, but he was only just awake.

“Stop! She still needs him alive.” He could hear the voices as if they were from down a long hallway and he latched onto it like it was a piece of flotsam in the swirling sea.

“...after what he did to her?’

“His fate is hers to decide. Not yours. And if he dies now, you’ll be answering to her.”

He heard the squealing hinges of the door slamming and his consciousness slipped away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too hard to stomach...thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are so kind! Thank you so much for reading, leaving your Kudos, and leaving your comments. I greatly appreciate it! I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 10**

Tyrion watched the carnage from afar. Drogon was swooping along the battlements, scorching every scorpion that the Golden Company manned. In a matter of minutes, the tops of the walls were blackened and empty. The part of the company that had met the Northerners and the Dothraki out on the field scattered. Their commander swung back and forth, attempting to control his men and his horse. His horse reared and finally fell on top of him. 

Then the dragon burst through the front gate and sprayed flame across the field to any soul unlucky enough to have not fled.

_ So much for the hired help, _ Tyrion thought with grim satisfaction. Paid armies were never quite as good as homegrown ones since they lacked the bred loyalty to die for the cause. Their queen’s cause in this case.

King Jon ordered the men forward and they began their march. Despite being a Targaryen, he was also a Stark. Where the Dothraki screamed and cried for blood, King Jon kept his forces in a tight line and did not allow the thrill of the battle to cause him to lose his senses.

When it came to light that Jon was in fact a son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark there had been initial confusion. Bran the Three-Eyed Raven had helped, of course, and Samwell Tarly completed the picture by referring to a Septon’s personal journal. The news had left King Jon in particular shaken. 

_ Roughly as shaken I would be if I learned I was my father’s favorite, _ Tyrion mused wryly. It would have tilted the foundation of his world, but would it have actually changed anything? For Tyrion, no, but for King Jon, he was suddenly launched from being a bastard to the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms.

Queen Daenerys had been the first to recover from the news. Her eyes shined at Jon with love and hope. “We can be together after all. The Targaryens once married brother to sister, aunt to nephew is hardly a stretch.”

It had taken a few days, but in the end, Jon agreed to marry. Though he insisted on keeping the first name he’d grown up with and thus became King Jon Targaryen I. Once the wedding had been announced, Lady Sansa fell all over herself in her excitement to arrange it. They were to be married the day before the army marched south.

Tyrion had been anxious to get moving and the added delay of overseeing a wedding had been enough to send him on a bender. It had been impossible to get his brother out of his mind. As they were dawdling, he was suffering. If he didn’t know better, he thought Queen Daenerys was deliberately dragging out the time out to prolong Jaime’s suffering. The thought was ludicrous. She was the only one who wanted Cersei off the throne more than he did.

She had to look forward to the future. Once the throne was hers—and it would be; no amount of mercenaries would be able to stand against dragons—then she had to start putting her roots down. Marrying Rhaegar’s last son, her nephew, to reestablish the Targaryen bloodline, was the first step into that future. 

Although Daenerys did not act like a young girl, there had still been a touch of girly giddiness at her marriage. It made Tyrion think of Sansa. The poor girl had only wanted to marry a handsome knight whom she would grow to love and Daenerys had the good fortune of falling in love with her most advantageous match.

Jon Targaryen had been more awkward, but after plying him with drinks, he had merely expressed his insecurities at being king to Tyrion. After many reassurances, it ultimately took Bran saying that he would do his duty as he was taught. The single line seemed to sober Jon up and he nodded.

Despite winter still firmly gripping the land, Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Targaryen wed under the weirwood. Daenerys seemed especially jubilous about this since it meant even her dragons could be in attendance. The feast ran long into the night, but the army was shaken awake to march after breaking fast. The dragons flew ahead and burned wide swathes of trails into the snow to make the going easier, much to Tyrion’s delight. Daenerys had determined that she and her Unsullied would travel by sea.

The Northern army and the Dothraki were to march south with Jon. Rhaegal chose to stay with his bonded rider. The parting was tearful, but there was hope. They could be assured that Jon now would make it south with little trouble. And Bronn was to march with Jon to retain his castle, having coughed up enough information to please Daenerys.

On the way down, Daenerys spotted a small fleet of ships nestled up as close as they dared to the side of a mountainous island. It would have completely obstructed the ships from their view were it not for the dragon. Once night had fallen, Daenerys returned on Drogon and swept through the ships, burning them with fire so hot Daenerys reported steam coming off the ocean. Just like that, Euron’s fleet was a collection of smoking timbers.

Now all that was left was the Red Keep itself. Tyrion watched the advance with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. They were moments away from their goal, but Tyrion felt a mounting terror at what it might mean for Jaime. Daenerys had at least left the fate of his brother up in the air, for now, but he was concerned about Cersei’s reaction. He’d heard around the Keep that Cersei had nearly poisoned herself and Tommen when it was all but certain that Stannis was going to overrun them. His father had walked in just in time.

Unlike Tommen, Jaime was her prisoner. He had been named traitor and, by Bronn’s reports, Cersei had done her level best to strip Jaime of his very identity as the Lannister heir. Would she see fit to have him killed in a murder-suicide?  _ Assuming Jaime isn’t already dead, _ Tyrion thought bitterly, but he had a feeling she would try to keep him alive. 

Cersei did have a perverse type of love for Jaime, even after he had been mutilated. Jaime had been imprisoned by her since birth, it was only made physical within the last few months. She had been forced to resort to such measures once Lady Brienne had somehow talked sense into him.

Tyrion winced when he thought about Brienne. She was back in Winterfell, protecting Lady Sansa as was her duty, but he noticed that she hadn’t seemed all that well when they left. There were deep bruises under her eyes and she had difficulty smiling. It was as obvious as she was tall that she loved his brother, but duty compelled her to stay in Winterfell. She’d be the first person he sent a letter to once he had news. 

“I want to go closer,” Tyrion said, as he shifted in the saddle, straining to see.

“My Lord Hand, neither of us has any business on the front line,” Ser Davos said.

Tyrion sighed. “If Ser Bronn is right about the Lannister army not listening to Cersei, they may listen to me. I could end the bloodshed.”

“I’m not the best at understanding hierarchies, but if your brother is still alive, you’re no more the heir than she is.”

“All the same. It’s worth a try, don’t you agree?”

There was a moment of silence, then Davos sighed and booted the horse into a gallop. Their assigned guard of four Northern soldiers followed them on their horses.

They reached the gates at the same time King Jon did.

King Jon did a doubletake and frowned at them. “I thought you were going to stay back.”

“I may be able to convince the Lannister soldiers to stand down,” Tyrion replied.

King Jon considered him and then nodded. “Very well. But if things go ill, you will drop back out of the city.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Davos barked in reply, as though afraid Tyrion would try to protest.

The horse plodded along next to Jon and Greyworm as they marched down the city. The Unsullied appeared single-minded, but Tyrion noticed Jon glancing around as curious eyes peaked out and then slammed their doors or windows shut against them. He was uneasy and Tyrion wondered if he was concerned about people being caught in a bloodbath. 

As they walked down the street, they came to a line of Lannister soldiers. The narrow street meant that the army was dense enough that the lines of soldiers kept going around the corner. Every single man was lined up in the strict formations his father was famous for and all with a grim countenance. Yet not a single one had a weapon in hand. There was a man at the front with slightly more elaborate armor and a feathered helmet to indicate his status as a captain. His face was lined, his hair was dark and he eyed them coldly. Not for the first time, Tyrion cursed his father for failing to familiarize  _ all _ of his sons with the command. Jaime would know this man, but not him.

King Jon made a show of stopping roughly a dozen feet away. They stared at each other for a moment and then Jon said, “It’s over. Your queen may not survive this, but you can. There’s no need for further bloodshed. Put down your weapons and we will let you live.”

There was a muttering of disagreement in the ranks. While Jon didn’t turn, Ser Davos did. The muttering cut off to which Tyrion assumed Ser Davos had given them a hard glare. Tyrion internally sighed. Since Cersei betrayed them and his brother failed to show with the Lannister army, there was a not undeserved bitter anger at the Lannisters. However, it wasn’t the army’s choice not to march North, but he felt like any attempts to explain the nuance of the situation would fall on deaf ears.

The captain continued to regard them for a moment. His and Tyrion’s eyes connected and he thought he saw the man draw his mouth into an even firmer line. Tyrion gulped. He wasn’t sure his pretty words would reach the captain. Did he dare try? He took a breath and just turned back to tell Davos to walk the horse forward into No Man’s Land when he saw movement. 

The captain pulled out his sword. The soldiers behind him followed suit. King Jon, the northerners and the Unsullied dropped into a fighting stance, but Jon held out an arm to stay the army.

Finally, the man broke the silence: “For Lord Lannister.” He tossed his sword to the ground. Every last Lannister soldier followed suit. Then he waved a hand and the army parted to make a lane.

For once, words caught in Tyrion’s throat and all he could do was swallow as he stared in surprise and hope.  _ Maybe Jaime is alive after all? _ Bronn had not been wrong about the Lannister army harboring rebellious feelings against Cersei. She was not a legitimate queen in the slightest. If anyone were to be ruling King’s Landing, the last remaining eldest male relative of either Baratheons or Lannisters was Jaime himself. Granted, he would never accept it, but as the last remaining male, it wasn’t something he could necessarily decline. But then the role would not automatically go to Cersei to fill it. There was no precedent. The Lannister army did not follow the king or queen, they followed the head of House Lannister.

King Jon ordered the captains forward, then he had the Unsullied tie their hands and detain them. The rest of the army shifted and there was a low buzzing like they were an army of hornets ready to attack. The captain shouted, “You have your orders!” They settled once more.

“Is Jaime still alive?” Tyrion called out.

The reticence was plain as day on the man’s face, but King Jon said, “Answer the question.”

“We think so, but I am not stationed in the Keep. My orders come from Commandant Cullen.”

“Where can I find him?” 

“He’s in the Red Keep, commanding the soldiers there,” the captain replied.

“Once we take the Red Keep, you will swear loyalty before the queen and myself,” King Jon commanded. “Until then, Grey Worm, set a guard on the captains. As for the rest of you: you will evacuate the city and wait for further instructions on the plains near Sheep’s Head hill.”

The two armies parted ways. The Lannister soldiers left their swords on the street and marched out.

“They’re remarkably disciplined,” Ser Davos said.

“They have to be. My father trained them. They follow Jaime. He will be at Queen Daenerys’ mercy soon enough, but I suppose it’s better than Cersei’s mercy. Your Grace, we need to reach the Keep.”

A shadow fell across King Jon’s face as he turned to look at Tyrion. His lips seemed to twitch with a reply, but he seemed to side against it and merely shouted to continue forward.

Tyrion breathed a sigh. He had overstepped his bounds a moment there. Mercifully, King Jon was not the type to get angry with a small moment of insubordination. However, Jon and Daenerys knew full well the cause of his sense of urgency, even if he had refrained from mentioning Jaime over the last month or so. 

Daenerys had already expressed her desire to put Jaime on trial for the murder of her father. Against all hope, Tyrion held out that she might reconsider at his insistence. He had no right to expect it, but he would annoy her regardless. Jaime had suffered so much and had freed him from his cell with one last act of mercy. The least Tyrion could do was return the favor. For once, he was in a position to help his brother, but it chilled him that the Lannister captain was uncertain whether Jaime still lived or not.

The gates to the Red Keep were open when they reached them. Even here the Lannister army made an aisle on either side of the doors. Though these soldiers hadn’t yet discarded their weapons, their swords remained sheathed.

Yet another captain, this one with red hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a fresh-faced look that suggested he was too young for the position stood at the end. “She’s inside.”

“Is she the one who ordered the surrender?” Tyrion asked.

“We don’t answer to her. We answer to Lord Lannister,” the young captain simply said. “Her Queensguard is all she has left. Beware the Mountain.”

Suddenly they heard the swooping wingbeats of Drogon as he approached. Despite their discipline, everyone in the army flinched away and diverted their eyes to the ground. One man grabbed at his sword, but his comrades slapped it away. “You want to get us killed?” One of them whispered fiercely. The red-haired captain hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes on the ground.

Drogon alighted atop the wall of the Red Keep and leaned over until his wings were on the ground for Daenerys to easily climb down from. Tyrion jumped off the horse and rushed over to her, “The Lannister army has surrendered without a fight.”

“Good. I expect them to pledge their fealty to me once we have uprooted Cersei Lannister.”

“They do not follow her. She is nothing to them. They follow my brother.”

Daenerys quirked an eyebrow at him. “I thought your brother was a prisoner.”

“He is,” Tyrion replied. “I would think you’d understand better than anyone the power of loyalty. They follow him because he was the first Lannister to treat them as human and not a means to an end.”

Her eyes softened. Ser Jorah had told him about the former slaves gathering around Daenerys and declaring her ‘Mhysa,’ their mother.

“Now is not the time for this, Lord Tyrion. We must remove your sister first. Your brother is a topic for another time,” Daenerys replied. She looked up at Drogon and gave soft orders in Valyrian. He drew himself up and launched himself into the sky, crumbling the wall of the Red Keep beneath him as he did so.

Tyrion followed as Queen Daenerys, King Jon, Grey Worm, and a score of Unsullied walked into the throneroom. Missandei and other noncombatants had been left at Dragonstone for the duration of the battle. When they entered, the hall was empty save for Cersei who was sitting on the Iron Throne and her contingent of queen’s guards. Ser Gregor Clegane remained the closest to her side and he was so tall his head was nearly level with the seat of the throne. Light poured through the stained glass behind Cersei.

“I am disappointed in this welcome, Sister. Not even an army?” Tyrion shouted out thoughtlessly. 

“The Lannister army is apparently even more ball-less than your Unsullied,” Cersei sneered. “You won because of your dragons. Were it not for them, your remains would be at the bottom of the ocean. Or shambling with the rest of the undead.”

“I won because I know how to keep the loyalty of my army,” Daenerys replied. “You take no responsibility for anything. I have heard tales of your abuse of the people in King’s Landing, how you imprisoned and tortured even your own brother. And now his army refuses to heed your orders. It takes more than an Iron Throne and an iron fist to rule.”

“I will not stand for a whelp half my age tell me how to rule,” Cersei snarled.

Daenerys only smiled. Suddenly Tyrion saw a shadow move behind the stain glass and the light dimmed. It had to be a dragon and his heart leapt.

Tyrion said, “Whelp or not, she’s shown greater compassion and understanding of the people than you ever have. Do you not recall our father lecturing you about keeping the people of King’s Landing downtrodden? They outnumber us ten to one and yet you continued to treat them like pebbles beneath your feet. It only takes a few to start an avalanche.”

“You dare bring up our father after murdering him?”

“He’s not here to say I otherwise can’t.”

“Maybe it wasn’t Addam Marbrand who made Jaime weak. Maybe it was you after all. No matter. You may have scorched Euron’s fleet and demolished the Golden Company, but the throne is still not yours. Queensguard, kill them!”

There was a marked hesitation in the Queensguard, but the Mountain stirred. He pulled out his sword slowly and steadily. He took one massive step forward.

Daenerys shouted something in Valyrian. There was an explosion of glass. The Queensguard covered themselves, except for Gregor Clegane. Rhaegal roared and maneuvered his long neck like a swan to snap down on the Mountain. Unlike a normal human, the Mountain did not seem to have a reaction and in the next instant Rhaegal pulled him through and disappeared. Tyrion hoped the dragon didn’t eat the Mountain.  _ Who knows what Qyburn pumped into him to spare him his death by poison, _ Tyrion wondered and shuddered.

It was only as Cersei was turning back to face them—her very being trembled with fear—that Tyrion saw the large fresh wound on her cheek.

“What happened, sister? You’re suddenly as ugly as I am.”

Her eyes blazed with fury and her lips tightened, but there was no comeback. This intrigued him even more.

Before he could say anything else, the rest of the Queensguard dropped their weapons and kneeled to Queen Daenerys. She stared at the kneeling Queensguard and covered her fear with anger.

Cersei looked imperiously at them. “You too would betray me?” She asked.

“There’s no sense in anymore bloodshed than is necessary,” King Jon asked.

“You would kill me, though. Even if I had decided to live and submit myself to you.”

“You must answer for your crimes and atrocities. I will not risk you continuing to upset our Kingdom,” Daenerys said. She gave Jon a smile and threaded her fingers between his.

“So the wolf bastard married the dragon bitch. That you would have ever thought to attempt to hide your relationship in the Dragon Pit.”

“I am not a bastard,” Jon proclaimed. “I am the last born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. My uncle, Ned Stark, claimed me as a bastard to protect me.”

“It doesn’t matter who you are. The Iron Throne was mine, it should’ve been mine!”

“You’re deluding yourself, sweet sister,” Tyrion replied, but his brow was furrowed in concern. “Now, what did you mean by ‘if you had decided to live?’”

Cersei chuckled. “Did you really think I’d leave my life in your hands?” 

“And what about Jaime?” Tyrion asked, stepping forward, his eyes fixated on Cersei.

Her mouth quirked into a smirk. “What about him?”

“What have you done to him?!” 

“I put him in his place where he belonged.”

“You tortured him.”

“As one does with traitors.”

“I’ve heard. He dared to attempt to ride North to fulfill the promise  _ you _ made.”

“He was not worthy of being heir. Only I had the balls to do what was right.”

“And yet, the army is still loyal to him and not you, despite him being imprisoned.”

“They won’t be loyal to you anymore than to me. How good will they be to you when Jaime is discovered dead?”

“What?”

Suddenly blood leaked from her nose. “Any minute now, we’ll be together, as we were meant to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but...I will not be posting next weekend. I will be on vacation. You can expect a chapter on the weekend after. For those who are American, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm so sorry for the unexpected wait. Please forgive me? I hope my American readers had a great Thanksgiving holiday! Thank you all so much for reading, bestowing your Kudos, and giving feedback. I really appreciate your thoughts!

**Chapter 11**

Tyrion rushed out into the daylight, flinching at the harsh quality of the light. He gulped in air like a man breaking the surface of the ocean. He looked around, seeing only soldiers from the myriad forces they’d brought and the Lannisters, but he couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for.

_ The Black Cells, _ he thought and he looked to the right and began hurrying over to a door. The last time he had been down in the Black Cells, he had been awaiting his own grisly fate. 

Cersei had just finished dying on the throne, skipping out on an otherwise more justified death. No doubt, she had ordered Jaime’s death before they entered the Keep. It had to be Qyburn. That disgusting excuse for a maester followed her bidding like a dog. No doubt he was to slit Jaime’s throat and then make a getaway using one of the underground tunnels to get out of the city.  _ Seven Hells, let me not be too late! _

A tall blond man emerged from the hallway he was heading towards, saw him, and began walking straight towards him. The Unsullied were instantly alert and surrounded him, pointing their spears at him. He stopped and raised his hands.

“I need to speak with Lord Tyrion,” he replied in a calm voice.

Tyrion was instantly at his side. “You asked for me? Who are you?” 

The man was tall and solidly built much like Jaime had been. He was dressed in armor and his red cape indicated he was high in the command of the army. Though calm, his eyes were hard and a darkness lurked behind them.

“I am Commandant Cullen. Lord Lannister raised me to Commandant after we successfully completed the campaign to take Riverrun.”

“You came from the Black Cells. My brother is down there.”

Cullen nodded. “If you’ll allow me, I will take you to your brother.”

“Is he alive?”

“Only just.”

“You’re going to need help then,” Ser Davos said, stepping up behind Tyrion.

“That’s hardly necessary, Ser Davos. I have this fine young man and these Unsullied.”

“The king ordered it,” he replied.

Tyrion frowned, but then nodded. “There’s no time to lose. Please, take us!”

“He should be bound like the others,” one of the Unsullied argued.

“Later,” Tyrion replied, waving his hand in dismissal. “He’s loyal to my brother. He wants him to be saved. Being antagonistic won’t get him anywhere but locked in the Black Cells once my brother has vacated it.” Tyrion noticed Cullen grimace and shudder. “Lead the way.”

In a moment, they were descending. The torch brackets were empty and the light soon faded down the hall.

“Perhaps we should get our own torches?” Ser Davos said as he brought up the rear.

“There are torches in the intermediary cell room,” Cullen called back to them.

Tyrion wondered briefly if they were being led into a trap, but as soon as Cullen pushed the wrought iron door open, he could see the flickering of light on the walls. Cullen grabbed a torch from the nearest bracket and led them to the next door. 

“Watch your step,” he said.

Tyrion saw what appeared to be a lump of cloth on the floor, but when they approached it Qyburn’s grizzled face came into focus. His greasy hair splayed out beneath him; both his eyes and mouth were open wide in surprise and death. A pool of blood lay beneath him.

“You killed him?” Tyrion said, no great remorse in his voice.

“I knew she would try to take Lord Lannister with her. It is her way.”

Tyrion swallowed and felt his voice catch. “Indeed it is. Thank you for stopping it.”

Cullen stopped on the stairs to look up at them. “For Lord Lannister.”

There were three doors lining each wall and no light. Cullen’s torch was the only one to be their beacon. Tyrion shivered.  _ How long has Jaime been down here?  _ Bronn had told them that he tried to ride North after the meeting at the Dragon Pit. That was nearly four months ago. Suddenly, Tyrion wasn’t so certain that Jaime dying now wouldn’t be a more merciful fate.

The key was in the door already and Cullen undid the latch. He placed the torch in the bracket outside and walked in. Another torch had been placed inside the cell to shine a dim light. For a moment, Tyrion wasn’t sure he could bring himself to look. He closed his eyes for a moment to see Jaime with his severe haircut, wry smirk, the eyes that shined kindly only for him. Tall, handsome,  _ golden _ . A true lion. 

_ Jaime needs me and I will not fail him, _ he thought. He released a shuddering breath and walked inside only to stop dead in his tracks. Surely this corpse wasn’t Jaime.

A man sat up against the wall wrapped in a blanket. He was wearing a simple woolen shirt and trousers that hung off him like a large tent. His hair was long and shaggy, likely darkened with grime, shit, or both. Even in the flickering light, his skin was pallid and stretched in an unnatural manner across his clavicle and neck. Undoubtedly, the beard covered the worst of the emaciation on his face. The left side of his face was bruised blue and swollen to the point of closing one eye. Despite his appearance, he could see Jaime’s chest rising.

“By the Seven…” Ser Davos whispered.

“Lord Lannister. Lord Lannister, can you hear me?” Cullen knelt down and whispered.

Jaime twitched and his eyelids flickered. He said something back in a voice so quiet, Tyrion wasn’t convinced it wasn’t his death rattle. He walked up closer.

“Jaime? Jaime, can you hear me? It’s Tyrion.”

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered. “For Brienne. Can’t die.” Then he whimpered and moaned in pain, sounding like a wounded dog.

“She still needs you, Jaime. You can’t leave yet.”

“More water, my Lord?” Cullen held up a cup and it was only then that Tyrion saw a tray that included a bowl. Tyrion raised his eyebrows at him in question. “I was feeding him when you arrived, my Lord. I was concerned he wasn’t going to live long enough to be saved.”

“Water,” Jaime gasped.

“Gently, my Lord,” Cullen replied. With agonizing slowness, he tipped the water between Jaime’s cracked lips. 

Tyrion watched in wonder his brother’s adam’s apple work as he managed to swallow.  _ How is he alive?! _

“Lord Tyrion. We need to get your brother out of here,” Ser Davos said. 

It stirred Tyrion to action. “I’ll have a room made up for him in the Tower of the Hand. I need to draw him a bath,” he said aloud more for himself than them. “Ser Davos, I can trust you with his safety?”

“Of course, Lord Tyrion.”

Reluctantly, Tyrion pulled himself away and rushed down the hall. It was only when he reached the second level that he felt the tears begin streaming down his face. He hastily wiped them away.  _ Enough of that,  _ he chastised.  _ Jaime needs you. Focus! _

Tyrion rushed out of the hallway calling for help. It took time to find the servants who had hidden or likely fled at the approach of King Jon and Queen Daenerys’ army. While the servants leapt at his instructions, it felt like they moved with agonizing slowness and Tyrion had to internally talk himself down from snapping at them to move faster.

When finally he felt the room was nearly ready, he rushed back down to the Black Cells. He could’ve sent a servant, but he wished to oversee his brother’s journey every step of the way.

“His chambers are ready,” Tyrion said breathlessly the moment he entered the cell. 

Cullen was just pulling back a spoon from his brother’s mouth. “Shall I move him then, my Lord?”

“Yes, let’s move him now.”

Cullen handed the food to Ser Davos then carefully arranged Jaime so that he could cradle him in his arms, swaddled like an infant. Jaime did not stir and only moaned in pain again. The journey back up to Jaime’s new quarters was agonizing. Tyrion dreaded the moment they stepped out into the daylight and all of the soldiers, both friendly and hostile, saw Jaime at his most diminished. 

Would Daenerys be there to see? And if she did, would she have any room for pity in her heart? She was not heartless like Cersei. Her capacity for love and her willingness to care for those with the least power were her best qualities. Even if she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive Jaime his crime against her father, perhaps at the least she might consider the consequences of exacting judgment and executing him. The Lannister army was still the largest army in the land after the depleting effect of the wars and Cersei had been right about one thing: they weren’t anymore likely to heed him than they had her.

Tyrion felt like all eyes were on them as soon as their parade stepped out onto the grounds. He was grateful at least that Jaime was bundled and the worst of his condition was not readily apparent to the onlookers. The Lannister soldiers still on the grounds placed a hand over their hearts in a salute. King Jon and Queen Daenerys were nowhere to be seen and Tyrion wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

When they arrived, he noticed that Jaime had buried his face into Cullen’s shoulder.

“I don’t think he likes the light, my Lord,” Cullen said.

“After four months in the Black Cells, I wouldn’t either,” Tyrion replied. “Strip him. He needs to be bathed.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He, Cullen, and Ser Davos gently pried the clothes off of him.

“These are remarkably clean,” Tyrion said, as he felt the cloth between his fingers, puzzling over the circumstances.

“I clothed him just before you arrived. She kept him naked in the cells with only the blanket,” Cullen explained.

_ Were Cersei not already dead, I would kill her all over again,  _ Tyrion thought as he glared at the clothes. At the very least, he would cheer when her body was thrown into Blackwater Bay or eaten by a dragon—whichever Queen Daenerys found more suitable.

It concerned Tyrion that Jaime continued to be listless, only cringing and moaning as they pulled the shirt over his head. Cullen ripped off a piece of his cloak and tied it around Jaime’s face to cover his eyes, which finally caused him to settle. 

Once Cullen and Ser Davos gently placed Jaime in the tub, Tyrion could only stare in horror. His brother was a skeleton! His muscles had disintegrated and all that was left was skin sagging over his bones. As a servant cleaned him, they found a host of parasites living in both Jaime’s beard and hair. Tyrion had nearly gagged when they pulled away dozens in a single swipe of a comb.

“Commandant, do you know of a maester in the city?” 

“No, my Lord. Only Qyburn.”

“He’s better off dead anyway. Ser Davos, would you go request to King Jon that he bring Samwell Tarly from Dragonstone as swiftly as possible.”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion,” the old knight said with a curt nod and he left.

Tyrion gently traced the bruise around Jaime’s eye, but he quickly withdrew when Jaime flinched and turned away. “Any idea how he got that? It’s quite nasty.”

“I heard a Queensguard gloating that they bludgeoned Lord Lannister with his sword. He had bitten the queen,” Cullen replied, his voice low and somber.

Tyrion turned to Cullen in shock. “Jaime did that? I would never have thought he’d be capable of violence against our sister.”

“The lion does not go quietly into the night,” Cullen said with a hard edge. “She expected a dog who would whimper and flinch at a raised hand; she got the lion’s bite instead. Forgive me, my Lord, but it was no less than she deserved.”

“You will not be punished for your words against Cersei. Her name has been burned in infamy and I can’t imagine there is a single soul alive who will honor her.” After a pause, Tyrion turned to him curious, “You sound like a learned man, Commandant Cullen.”

“The army taught me to read and write, my Lord. Little else to do when sitting outside Riverrun for two years.”

“I am glad to hear you found purpose while encamped there.”

Cullen seemed to hesitate and then he said, “I supped with Lord Lannister privately once when he arrived at Riverrun. I was terrified. I was certain that he would have my head for a single misstep. The Freys couldn’t touch us, but they abused their soldiers plenty. They were the first nobles that I had much contact with.”

Tyrion glowered, “The Freys were a rotten lot. Most of them at any rate. They’re all dead now. Go on.”

“Lord Lannister didn’t punish me. He treated me like an equal. I stumbled and stuttered and made a couple of jokes where I shouldn’t have. I do think I annoyed him, but he never once raised his voice or threatened me. It was then that I knew I would happily fight and die for him, no matter the cause. I just hope he can forgive me.”

“Forgive you for what?”

“The queen ordered me to flog him when he tried to escape,” Cullen said and he blanched. “And I did it. I will accept any punishment you deem necessary.”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes as he accessed the man. While he could see numerous nervous tics—his eyes were cast down and shifting, his face was pale, and there was sweat on his brow—Commandant Cullen remained steadfastly rooted to the spot. “Tell me then, if you would have died for Jaime, why didn’t you die for him then?”

He took in a few breaths before meeting Tyrion’s eyes, “Because I knew that she would’ve found someone else to do it. My death would’ve spared no one. I did what I thought was best for the army. I apologize, my Lord.”

The dwarf frowned at him for a moment and then said, “If you had not been alive, you may not have been there to kill Qyburn. If you had not been alive, Jaime would not have been clothed, and given food and water when he needed it most. Unlike Cersei, Jaime has room in his heart for forgiveness. He won’t forget this and neither will I. I suggest you return to the army and see them properly evacuated from the city, but I ask that you stay within the Red Keep for the time being. Jaime may yet still need you.”

A little bit of color returned to Cullen’s face, but he nodded shakily and said, “Yes, my Lord.”

“You’re dismissed.” 

The man promptly turned and headed out the door.  _ They may yet listen to me, but only as long as Jaime continues to live. _ Tyrion’s heart quailed at the thought of being the lone Lannister left in the world.

Once Jaime was scrubbed clean, he was clothed and placed in bed again. Tyrion took his place in the chair that he moved to be next to the bed. Now that the grime had been washed away, some of the gold had returned, though his beard was now shot with white. The entire time, Jaime had made no protestations. Was he aware that he was no longer a prisoner? Surely he could feel the cleanliness to his skin, the fine clothes on his back, and the soft mattress underneath him. Yet he only whispered beneath his breath and despite appearing asleep, his breathing was labored.

“Jaime, can you hear me?” Tyrion said to him. “Please, say something...to me.”

Tyrion heard him whispering again and he leaned in to listen.

“I know you hate me Brienne, but I’ll live. You’ll be safe. I’ll keep you safe. Just have to keep going.”

An idea shot through Tyrion like a crossbow bolt. He had promised himself to inform Lady Brienne the moment he had any news. Perhaps this would be enough to entice her to come to King’s Landing. She was still Lady Sansa’s sword, but perhaps he could persuade her to release Lady Brienne from her vows. He would do damn near anything for his brother. 

Tyrion rooted through the rooms drawers and pulled out a couple of pieces of parchment and ink well. He took a moment to think on the wording and then meticulously began to write.

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank all of my wonderful readers! I hope you're having a great day. Thank you so much for reading and your comments. They mean the world to me!
> 
> Unfortunately, I have to deliver some bad news. When I started posting this story, I had a sizable chunk of chapters all lined up and...you've caught me. This is the last finished chapter I have. Sorry, but updates will be a bit variable from now on. They'll always be on Saturday, but I can't guarantee which Saturday. I ask that you be patient with me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the next installment!

**Chapter 12**

Tyrion Lannister poured himself a generous glass of wine. He’d managed to swear off wine during the march, but his thirst for it had returned with a vengeance now that he was back in King’s Landing. He damn near wore his fingers to the bone writing the necessary letters to the Houses spread throughout the Six Kingdoms. Daenerys had granted the newly crowned Queen Yara the independence that the Ironborn had long craved. Tyrion had helped Daenerys draw up a treaty that would preclude the Ironborn from raiding their kingdoms lest they wanted dragon breath on their backs. 

In short order, the lords and ladies who were still alive were making their way to King’s Landing for the coronation of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. That should include Lady Sansa and with her would come Lady Brienne. They were at least a month out and their arrival could not come soon enough.

They had somehow kept Jaime alive over the previous week. In the beginning, he had remained in a stupor. If they moved his hand or his legs, Jaime would oblige but he never acknowledged their words. The most notable progress was that they had managed to shed the blindfold, though the shutters continued to remain drawn on his room to keep the light dim. Forcibly, but gently, they shoved food down his throat. This was hard on Jaime as his insides seemed to revolt against it and more than once led to a river of shit, but they persevered.

Samwell Tarly had arrived after three days with the other non-combatants and Tyrion immediately pressed him into working on Jaime. The large man gasped upon seeing his brother and stumbled over his own words, stating lamely, “Oh, that looks bad. He’s in a state.”

“Yes, he is. What should we do?” Tyrion asked, trying to keep his tone even.

“Well...what are you doing?”

“Jaime doesn’t like the light so we keep the room dim. He has parasites in his beard and hair; we can’t seem to get rid of them. We feed him a hearty stew three times a day. It occasionally gives him the shits. We’re not sure why. Can you help us?” Tyrion asked as he rubbed at his temple in a gesture of exhaustion and frustration. Now that the position of Hand had been consolidated to just Tyrion, Ser Davos volunteered his time to help Jaime, to which Tyrion was endlessly grateful. His days were always long and he was under a boulder of stress and worry. He, Ser Davos, and Commandant Cullen did rotations staying with Jaime every moment of the day. They kept Jaime bundled like a babe against the chill of the winter air.

Tyrion felt his mood darken further when Samwell didn’t even bother examining Jaime, but just continued to look at him from afar. Once Samwell had seen his fill, they retreated back to the Hand’s solar.

“Umm...hmm...well, I assume you’ve bathed him of the parasites?”

“Frequently.”

“Well, I can consult my books…”

“Don’t you know?”

He winced at Tyrion’s irritation. “Well, I was only at the Citadel for about three months. All they had me doing in that time was cleaning the bedpans and transcribing old journals to preserve them. I cured Ser Jorah of the greyscale and I had to read that out of a book. Books are where I’ve gained all of my knowledge.”

Tyrion stared at him. “You were only there for three months?!”

Samwell grimaced. “Don’t look at me like that. I was there to study the Long Night and the wights. I was supposed to find information about those. It was taking too bloody long, so I stole books on the North and returned.”

Tyrion rubbed at his eyes in frustration once more, but Samwell was the closest thing to a maester left in this whole city. He would have to consult King Jon and Queen Daenerys about reaching out to the Citadel to replace the Grandmaester. They needed to rebuild the relationships that Cersei let rot. Until then, his brother had to endure their ignorance.

“Well, you may yet still be of assistance. We could use another man in the rotation of care. He must be watched every minute of every day. Are you willing?” 

He noticed Samwell’s eyes flicker uncertainly around the room. “I-I suppose I could.” 

“You don’t sound like you could.”

Samwell sighed. “It’s just...my father and my brother died fighting for the Lannisters. Where was your brother when his allies were dying?”

Tyrion frowned tersely. “First you blamed Queen Daenerys and now you lay blame with my brother? Your father and brother had the opportunity to bend the knee the same as everyone else and they refused. At what point do they take responsibility for their own fates?” Tyrion snapped. He got up to start heading down to Jaime’s room, but he stopped at the door and turned back to Samwell. “And for the record, my brother was drowning in a river after having attempted to charge and kill Queen Daenerys.”

The rotund man bowed his head shame-faced and, for a moment, Tyrion almost regretted his words, but he quenched it immediately. His brother was already lacking for allies and the last thing he needed was a faux maester who begrudged his existence. 

“I-I will help your brother, Lord Tyrion.”

“You can set aside your feelings to treat him with the utmost respect?”

Samwell drew himself up and gave a curt nod. “Yes, my Lord, I promise.”

“Very well. Then follow me.”

With that, Tyrion was able to find a few more hours of sleep in the night which eased his stress and cooled his head. Although he was disappointed in how little knowledge Samwell Tarly seemed to have for healing, Jaime appeared to be recovering. Even after five days, Tyrion was certain that Jaime’s hollow face was a bit more filled in. He hoped that, given enough time, he would come back to them like he’d just risen up from a long nap. But as Jaime grew stronger, he became more aware of his surroundings, and instead of encouraging feelings of hope in those around him, he instead invoked fear. The servants, men or women, would shrink under his glares. 

Jaime now had a tendency to sit perched on his bed like a stone golem and followed anyone who entered the room with only his eyes. By one servant’s account, Samwell had given Jaime a tentative smile and reached a hand over to pat him on the arm and came away with Jaime’s teeth imprinted on his hand and blood leaking out.

Tyrion had gathered Ser Davos and Samwell into his solar. Cullen was serving his watch. Tyrion gave Samwell a pitying look as the man stared morosely at his thoroughly wrapped hand. “Clearly, we need to treat Jaime with extreme care. He tore a chunk out of our sister’s cheek before she died and he...well, he may not have loved her then. He used to though.”

“How do you imagine he’ll get past this?” Ser Davos asked. He pinned Tyrion with a knowing look. “He can’t act like this forever.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Tyrion replied, his own voice cracking. He took a swig of a goblet of wine to hide it. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of Jaime not losing his violent tendencies. Queen Daenerys was patient, for the time being, but she wouldn’t always be. If he had shown no headway in taming his brother, Jaime was likely to be executed like a rabid dog.

After that, Samwell stared at Jaime’s door in horror before entering and he had a tendency to flinch at every single movement Jaime made, benign or not. Tyrion thought he saw a smirk on his brother’s lips; his brother was enjoying inflicting the terror on his wouldbe caretakers. He, Ser Davos, and Cullen were not so perturbed and were willing to stand their ground, but they stopped attempting to feed Jaime. He had smacked the bowl of stew out of their hands more than once. Jaime also hated them being nearby while eating and they had to set their chairs back against the far wall before he was willing to eat. He kept his eyes on them the whole time, untrusting and angry.

And still, Jaime did not speak. He made no voluntary noise. Tyrion knew his voice worked by the inhuman shrieks and cries for Brienne when he awoke from a nightmare; he was frequently the one watching Jaime during the worst part of the night. He had attempted to soothe his brother the first time it happened but was knocked over. He held his hand up to protect himself as his brother crouched over him.

“Jaime, it’s me,” he whispered. “Don’t you recognize me?” It was just light enough from the candles in the room that Tyrion could see him weighing his options as if he was contemplating killing him. 

Jaime withdrew and Tyrion shakily climbed back to his feet and onto the chair. He stared at his brother as if only seeing the stranger in him for the first time. “Are you in there? Can you come out? Please! Cersei—” Jaime actually growled and Tyrion had to bite off the name, but he stumbled forward with his words “—she’s not alive anymore. She’s dead. She can’t hurt you. Isn’t that enough?”

If it was or not, Jaime refused to acknowledge Tyrion had even said anything and simply curled back up under the covers. The only vote of confidence that Jaime seemed to have was that Tyrion was the only one with whom he’d risk sleeping around.

At the beginning of the day, before the first shift change, Tyrion would gather everyone in the Hand’s solar for a recap of the previous day to discuss changes. He couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on Ser Davos and Cullen’s faces. A pall seemed to hang over them as they prepared for the day.

“Pardon, my Lord Hand, but will he ever be who he was before?” Cullen had asked just that morning. 

“With time,” Tyrion replied and offered a smile, hoping it hid the bleakness he was feeling.

“How can you be sure?”

“I have to believe.”

“Your brother needs more help than we can offer him,” Ser Davos said.

“I know, I know,” Tyrion began and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve consulted the king and queen. I sent a letter just yesterday to the Citadel. They should have...properly trained maesters that can help. For now, I beg of you to stay the course. He still needs care, even if we can’t offer the best of it.”

Ser Davos drew his mouth into a stubborn line. “I won’t give up on a man who’s clearly suffering.”

“Thank you,” Tyrion whispered. With that, they were dismissed and they pushed forward with the routine.

After his generous glass of wine and with a heavy heart, Tyrion finally sought out his bed and curled up in it like an animal hoping to spare itself the worst of the storm.

In the morning, he was once more with Queen Daenerys and King Jon, consulting the floor drawn map of Westeros that Cersei had commissioned. It was the only thing of worth and beauty that was left of her reign. 

“We need to send an envoy to Dorne and the Houses still left in the Reach. The Florents have had a longstanding rivalry with the Tyrells; I guess that’s at an end. They’ll be seeking the seat of the lord paramount and the possession of High Garden,” Tyrion explained.

“And by what measure are they owed High Garden?” Daenerys asked.

“The Tyrells were mere stewards to the seat when the Gardener King fell to your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror. It was King Aegon who raised the Tyrells. It was quite a lofty gift, which is why it took Lord Stark breaking their siege at Storm’s End to force them to bend the knee. The Florents are descended from Garth Greenhand, by his daughter Florys the Fox, hence their sigil. Garth Greenhand’s own firstborn son founded House Gardener and they became kings of the Reach. Their blood ties made them the superior choice. I’m sure they’re eager to stake their claim now.”

“And the Reach is the most fertile land?” Daenerys said, tilting her head as she considered the board in front of her.

“Yes. The Riverland’s are second, the Vale third. Well, the Riverlands has been burnt to ash thanks to my father and that beast, Gregor Clegane, and the North has had a steady train from the Vale. If we want to feed King’s Landing, we’ll need the Reach.”

Missandei walked into the room and stood to the side quietly but expectantly. They all turned and acknowledged her; the men gave her a polite nod and Daenerys smiled.

“Very well, we shall strike a deal with them. I hate to be on the back foot, so apart from offering them dragonfire, what else can we offer?”

“Protection from the Ironborn. They don’t have a treaty with the new Queen of the Iron Islands and I rather doubt Queen Yara would grant them one,” Tyrion said quite plainly.

Daenerys smiled and shook her head, then turned to Missandei. “What is it?”

“There is a delegation of men in robes here to seek an audience with Your Graces. The leader of the group said he was Grandmaester Coryn.”

Tyrion started. “I only sent the Citadel a letter two days ago. I was certain we wouldn’t hear from them for another week at least.”

“Let’s take this to the table. Missandei, would you bring refreshments?” Daenerys asked and her friend bowed with a kind smile.

Tyrion studied the royal couple as they took their seats. Jon appeared troubled and perhaps a little bored.

“You’re awfully quiet, Jon,” Daenerys asked, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Do you not approve of our plans?”

Jon noticed the hand and brought it to his lips to place a kiss upon. “I have no objections. I am simply...unfamiliar with everything south of the North. I was treating with wildlings and my own Night’s Watch brothers. We couldn’t even bring the entire North together before the Battle for the Dawn. The south feels as strange to me as it must to you.”

“As with anything, these things take time…” Daenerys whispered and it was then that Tyrion stopped listening.

He stuck his fingernail into a scratch in the wood and followed it. True hope began welling up inside him since he’d rescued Jaime. He had been certain that it would be nearly two months before they saw anyone from the Citadel, but—as one would hope—the leadership had the presence of mind to realize there was a void. King’s Landing needed a Grandmaester as much as the Citadel needed the capital. It seemed likely, then, that an alliance could be forged within the Reach if the maesters wanted to reestablish the relationship between their two regions. He prayed that the newly arrived maesters had the knowledge needed to address his brother’s concerns.

Tyrion was brought out of his thoughts by the jangling of the Grandmaester’s chain as he approached. He was a surprisingly tall and broad man, but his steps were sure and calm. Unlike Pycelle who was as bald as an egg, he had a head full of snow-white hair; in like contrast, his beard was short but well-groomed compared to the former Grandmaester’s long, sweeping one that he had tucked into his belt before he’d had Shagga cut it off. His face was broad and his expression was pleasant. 

He bowed from the other end of the table. “Your Graces, Lord Hand.” 

Daenerys inclined her head to Jon. He cleared his throat and said, “You may be seated, Grandmaester.”

The Grandmaester was quite still once he took his seat and waited expectantly, though Tyrion could tell he was sizing the pair of monarchs up. 

“You are?”

“I am Coryn and I was elected Grandmaester to serve at your side.”

“What sets you apart from a regular maester?”

“There are many reasons. As this is the heart of the kingdom, it has long been a tradition to send our best and brightest to assist the king and queen. I was elected Grandmaester and made the leader of this group. Although only full maesters may serve as Grandmaesters, my specialties lie in healing, history, and politics. I am another voice that can offer you guidance and counsel during your reign.” 

“What brings you to King’s Landing so quickly, Grandmaester? My Hand informed us he’d only sent a letter a few days past. Unless you have dragons of your own, I would say it was impossible for you to have come such a long way so quickly,” Daenerys said. Tyrion struggled to hide his smile at the keen light in Daenerys’ eyes.

“I know the popular opinion of everyone outside the Citadel is that we all have our heads buried in books, but it is imperative that we keep a close eye on the realm and the Iron Throne. It could mean our doom to not pay attention, so it was to our interest and satisfaction that we heard that Queen Daenerys had taken a husband, King Jon, and moved south to upend Queen Cersei. With your dragons, it was clear you would make short work of her. We put together a party of some of our best healers and began the journey here, anticipating enormous casualties. I must say, I am surprised—pleasantly surprised—to see the city is intact and the people appear unhurt.”

“You’ll find, Grandmaester, that Cersei’s only allies, in the end, were sellswords,” Tyrion explained.

Coryn shook his head. “Sellswords are hardly reliable. What of the Lannister army? We did see them encamped outside the city; they appeared unhurt.”

“They surrendered immediately,” King Jon replied.

“Is that so?” Coryn cocked his head and there was curiosity in his eyes, but then he paused and seemed to think about it. He began stroking the chin hidden under his beard. “She was a woman,” he muttered and then froze. “No offense meant, Your Grace. But you are Targaryen. The throne belonged to your blood. King Robert’s grandmother was also Targaryen, so his blood had some claim to the throne, but Cersei Lannister had no Targaryen blood. Even through marriage, she had no claim on the throne. There were also some...nasty rumors that reached our ears in Oldtown.” The Grandmaester’s voice grew hard as steel, “A slimy and former maester of the Citadel, Qyburn, ingratiated himself to her and created abominations. Do you know of his whereabouts?”

“He was dispatched already, Grandmaester,” Tyrion soothed.

Coryn was grave as he nodded. “That’s good. If it were within our powers, we would’ve sent him across the Narrow Sea where his practices may be more acceptable. As it is, the Citadel could only expel him. I am ashamed that he used the knowledge we granted him to spread his filth and cruelty.” 

“I am impressed, Grandmaester, however, you should refrain from making untoward comments about Essos. It was my home for a time. Strange though it may be to the Westerosi, the people there aren’t so different. Yes, this former Maester would’ve found an audience over there, yet he found one here all the same,” Daenerys replied. Though she still wore a smile, there was irritation in her eyes and voice.

Coryn flushed. “Apologies, Your Grace. You raise a very good point. I will be more careful in the future.” 

“Grandmaester, you mentioned bringing several maesters, specifically your best and brightest?” Tyrion asked.

“That is correct, Lord Hand.”

Tyrion hesitated for a moment and then said, “I am in need of some assistance. C-cersei imprisoned and tortured my brother, Jaime. Jaime Lannister. He is in...quite a state. We’ve managed to keep him alive and he seems to be on a path of recovery, but he’s not...he’s not the man I remember.”

Coryn nodded and said, “You’ll want the Acolyte Kinoc. He’s a favorite of Archmaester Ebrose, our primary healer.”

“Key-nock?” Tyrion asked, his heart pounding with elation. 

“Yes, he specializes in traumatic cases similar to your brother. It’s not typical of maesters to have a single focus, but he’s proven himself adept at understanding the human mind. It’s been invaluable to some of our severe cases.”

Tyrion felt his breath shudder and his heart picked up speed. “He sounds...most useful. I would dearly like his assistance.”

“When would you like to see him?”

“As swiftly as he may.”

“I’ll be sure to speak with him.”

Tyrion sat back in his chair, looking up to the heavens as if he expected the building to split in two and reveal the Seven looking down on him.  _ Maybe the Seven are real after all, _ he thought. 

He snuck a quick glance at Daenerys, but she appeared to be quietly consulting Jon. He could see their mouths moving and their heads nodding as they seemed to come to an agreement. 

She smiled at Jon. He raised his voice, “Queen Daenerys and I agree that a relationship between the throne and the Citadel would be greatly beneficial for both parties. We invite you to remain, Grandmaester. You will attend the small council meetings; we are still trying to fill positions, so your input on worthy candidates would be most useful.”

“Very well, Your Graces. I shall let my fellow maesters know. By your leave?”

Jon and Daenerys nodded at him. The Grandmaester Coryn rose with a light jingle of his chain and he bowed once more and then strode out with his head held high. 

Tyrion turned to the monarchs. “I would like to meet with this maester regarding my brother. Can we continue this discussion for another time?”

“Later then, once you have consulted with your maester,” Daenerys said. Whatever joy was in her voice had now vanished and she seemed ill at ease.

_ My brother is not a threat to you, _ Tyrion wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure Jaime wasn’t a threat to him either.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the lengthy wait for this chapter. I'm pretty nervous about this one for reasons (it's the OC!), but I hope all enjoy it! Thank you for supporting me, reading this story and commenting and bestowing your Kudos! It means more than you know.
> 
> Unfortunately, the posting schedule hasn't changed. All chapters will be posted on a Saturday, but which Saturday remains a mystery...It is my sincere wish that you continue to be patient with me.
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Chapter 13**

Kinoc studied the small room with a frown.  _ Where is the bookcase?  _ What had the other maesters and acolytes before him done with their books? They were to be displayed within easy reach from the bed, but there was a trunk placed at the foot of his bed and a simple writing desk for his personal use. Aurus’ side of the room was identical to his.

_ Thank the Seven we get to choose our roommates, _ he thought. At the Citadel, the maesters were fond of simply throwing students together and seeing where the dice fell. His first roommate had been a Redwyne and it had taken every ounce of patience he had not to brain the smarmy ass with a book. It wouldn’t have been fair to the book. 

Clearly, the Redwyne family hadn’t deemed it necessary to vet which of their spare sons was more inclined for learning. Or perhaps the idiot boy drew the short end of the straw. It didn’t matter. After endless nights of listening to him whine and drown his head in drink, the Redwyne washed out of the Citadel. Those who couldn’t handle the demand and rigor always did.

His other two roommates were equally nameless and forgotten. If they didn’t intrigue him in the first five minutes, he put them out of sight and out of mind. It was halfway through his seventh year that Aurus had been assigned as his roommate. 

The first sentence out of his mouth:  _ “Do you think the Seven are actually individuals or just one God?” _

That had precipitated a discussion about religions, their mythos, and their role in society until the small hours of the morning. Unlike his previous roommates who had all been as green as spring grass, Aurus was a fifth-year student and they were soon happily speaking in sarcastic barbs and philosophy to each other. 

“Do they really expect us to live like savages? Where’s the bookcase?” Aurus scoffed.

Kinoc chuckled. “Maybe we can get one?”

“You have seen the state of this place, right? You weren’t blindfolded walking in.”

Kinoc nodded grimly. They had been relieved to finally reach the Capital, but a walk through the streets to the Red Keep had shown a desperate picture. Men, women, and children had followed them with hollowed eyes, crouching under awnings or peering through their windows They at least hadn’t seemed afraid. It was then that a group of Unsullied had rounded a corner and brought them to a halt. 

He wasn’t ashamed to say he felt fear at seeing their muted gray armor and humorless faces. While their speech had been abrupt and stoic, they had offered an escort to the Red Keep once the Grandmaester had explained their purpose. After they walked through the open gate, the patrol had returned to its rounds and they met yet more Unsullied.

The streets of King’s Landing had not been quite dead, but the Red Keep was a hive of activity. Servants were going about their duty as if it was any other day. There were guards, but much of the Unsullied appeared to be off-duty and could be seen playing dice or sparring. A few lords and ladies wandered over and had at least expressed their enthusiasm at their presence. Kinoc had felt the tension ease in his shoulders at the otherwise normal reactions.

Aurus had grumbled under his breath: “Where are the dragons? There are supposed to be dragons!”

They had all been forced to wait as the Grandmaester had beseeched an audience with the king and queen. Most of them had broken open a trunk or two to read or write. Aurus couldn’t keep his eyes off the sky as he scanned the horizon for the dragons and Kinoc had decided to observe the residents of the Keep, making note of their behavior. There was a distinct lack of fear that had been present from the reports they’d received about King’s Landing even just a week ago as they passed former residents fleeing to get out of the way of the dragon queen. He felt safer by the minute and the gnawing worry that he was going to be caught between two vicious queens perished. 

Perhaps that would change when the dragons returned.

“Let’s get our books,” Aurus said. 

“After you.” Kinoc waved his arm in a flourish at the door and his friend led the way, not that Aurus needed his help. Despite being an acolyte who spent the majority of his days with his nose in a book, his arms were thick with muscle and his long, chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his beard was sculpted to his angular jaw. He was every inch the warrior. 

Kinoc, by contrast, was tall and lanky and couldn’t grow a beard even if the Seven commanded it. The angle from his jaw was a result of being thin more than breeding and his features were delicate enough to have been jokingly called a woman. As he had aged, his vision had lost its sharpness and he had been forced to use spectacles. His eyes and hair were as dark as the night and he liked to think his lifetime of reading had honed his wit to a razor’s edge. No matter what the men thought, he’d caught a number of women staring lustily at him in his favorite tavern. Though he was willing to imbibe drink, he prided himself on his discipline to the order he’d dedicated himself to and left those gentlewomen to their own drinks. 

They hefted the trunk with their books from the cart. 

“You can finally put some muscle on those chicken wings of yours.” Aurus grinned at him.

Kinoc glared. His friend only chuckled. He’d grown up the son of a lord and had spent nearly two decades using a spear. All of his brothers could beat him, but he could hold his own. They got back up to their room without much fuss and were sorting their books when a knock came at the door.

“Grandmaester Coryn,” Aurus intoned and gave him a small head bow. 

Kinoc leaped to his feet and gave a similar bow. “How may we be of service?”

“If you would please, Acolyte Aurus, I need to speak to Acolyte Kinoc alone.”

Aurus briefly made eye contact with Kinoc and said, “Of course, Grandmaester.” Then he stepped out. 

The Grandmaester closed the door and walked over, having to pick through the myriad stacks of books that were decorating the floor. Kinoc felt his ears become hot in embarrassment. “How may I serve you, Grandmaester?”

“It’s not me you will be serving. The Hand of the King Lord Tyrion Lannister has a brother who has suffered greatly at the hands of the last queen. I’ve been told that he’s not of sound mind and is not acting quite right. I recommended you to look over him.”

Kinoc thought his eyes must be as wide as dinner plates and he was nearly short of breath. The cogs in his mind turned as he went through the main branch of the Lannister family tree. He had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting out Jaime Lannister’s name. If the Grandmaester wasn’t willing to say it then he shouldn’t either, but to what purpose?

“Of course I will help! When did they wish to see me?”

“As soon as you are able. The Lord Hand awaits you in the Tower of the Hand. Will you need assistance?”

“I can’t know what I will need until I am able to assess the patient, Grandmaester.”

“Quite true. I trust you are familiar with speaking to one with the status of the Lord Hand.”

“Yes, Grandmaester.”

Coryn was silent as Kinoc felt he was weighing him in his mind. It was a struggle not to squirm. He had been studying primarily in the branch of healing for six years, working closely with Archmaester Ebrose. Both he and the Grandmaester were familiar with his work, though it had taken patience, dedication, and long nights of frustration to break through the air of disapproval that had initially hung around it. Nearly everyone had been certain he was wasting his time, but the idea of exploring an area of healing that had never been plundered for knowledge had been irresistible. 

“When you return, I ask that you return to my office and deliver your report.”

“Yes, Grandmaester.”

Once the Grandmaester had left, Kinoc dove into a trunk, haphazardly throwing books about until he came upon a few journals. He rifled through them until he found a blank one. He had a feeling this patient would inspire enough notes to fill it front to back.

He gave one last glance at his room and wrinkled his nose at the state of deterioration with books everywhere. With luck, Aurus wouldn’t kill him.

Though Kinoc had never visited the Red Keep, he had studied maps of the most notable castles in the realm and was therefore familiar with the layout. He kept his arms folded in his robes, the journal, quill, and inkpot were hidden up his sleeves as he crossed the grounds and ascended the stairs to the Hand’s solar.

A pair of Unsullied flanked the doors. They gave him a curious look but stayed silent. They unnerved him and it took him a moment to summon his courage and knock on the door.

“Come in!” A voice called within.

He glanced at the Unsullied, wondering if they were going to open the door, but they remained standing as still as a statue. He pushed it open himself and peered in.

A small man was sitting behind a desk so large for him that it was comical, but he dared not crack a smile. He noticed Tyrion Lannister had a large scar on his face when he looked up, but he seemed eager as he waved and said, “Come in, come in!”

Kinoc stepped in.

“You must be the maester the Grandmaester was talking about,” Tyrion replied.

“Yes. I am Acolyte Kinoc, Lord Hand.” He gave him a short bow of his head.

Lord Tyrion studied him curiously. Whatever his stature, Kinoc could see a sharp intelligence that few who even studied at the Citadel could rival.  _ Lord Tyrion Lannister, guilty of slaying King Joffrey Baratheon I. He escaped the black cells, sailed to Essos, and subsequently convinced Queen Daenerys to make him her Hand. _ Anyone with the kind of power to slay kings and befriend enemies to his house could not be underestimated.

“I must admit, I’m used to maesters being old.”

“I am not a maester, My Lord. I am an acolyte.”

“In that case, what makes you qualified to help my brother?”

“First, my lord, that entirely depends on what kind of state your brother is in. Second, I have been studying at the Citadel for ten years. I am favored by Archmaester Ebrose and was considered one of three acolytes with the necessary knowledge to be of use in the Red Keep. The area of study that I have dedicated my life to has been left nearly untouched. I am the only one with advanced knowledge and experience healing patients who suffer trauma of the mind.” 

If Lord Tyrion had been impressed by the speel, he didn’t show it and continued to eye him like he was sizing up a fish for dinner. The Grandmaester had given him few details regarding what the Lord Hand had said, but Kinoc was under the distinct impression that someone had displeased him before and he wanted to be certain of whom he was sending to heal his brother. He detected the ring of an unspoken challenge and he could already feel his mind gearing up in preparation.

“What is it that you intend on doing?”

“That depends on what state your brother is in. When it comes to the mind, every ailment is unique to that person and therefore it will need to be addressed in a unique manner. There are broad strokes that tend to work across patients, but what works for many patients may not necessarily work for another.”

“You are being purposely vague and keep mentioning that it is dependent on the condition of my brother. I would ask that you cease with this vagueness and tell me straight how you think you can help my brother,” Lord Tyrion said and his eyes glinted with a ferocious protectiveness.

Kinoc was quiet as he weighed his next words. Then he said, “Grandmaester Coryn told me that your brother is ‘not of sound mind and is not acting himself.’ As much as I respect the Grandmaester, those details are scant. He clearly did not see your brother and was not able to give me an accurate assessment. Even if he had seen your brother and delivered me his own assessment of him, I still would not trust it. He may be biased, he may have missed a crucial detail, or perhaps your brother acts differently to him—a Grandmaester— than he would to me, a lowly acolyte. It is imperative that I see your brother first before I jump to any conclusions. I don’t make false promises, Lord Tyrion.”

There was a moment as his words hung in the air, but then the Hand smiled and nodded. “Very well. Shall we go see my brother then?” 

“Not yet. I would first like to hear about your brother, the circumstances of his ailment, and what you have done so far to treat him.” He produced his journal, ink bottle, and quill from his sleeve. “If this pleases you, I shall refer to your brother as Patient X in my notes.”

Lord Tyrion leveled him with another inscrutable look and then he nodded and said, “Very well.”

As Lord Tyrion detailed his brother’s treatment regime, Kinoc wrote feverishly and alarm bells began sounding in his head. It was clear that they had been stumbling blindly with even the most basic care. It would need to be remedied quickly. He acknowledged that Lord Tyrion was well-versed in strategy and politics, and had an uncanny ability of charming his family’s worst foes, but his healing knowledge had the depth of a puddle.

“You rescued him how many days ago?”

“Seven at this point. We trade-off watching him in shifts. He’s scared the wits out of one of our number and the servants are all terrified of him. He seems to like the fear he causes.”

“Do you know the details of what he suffered?”

Lord Tyrion heaved a great sigh. “One of the men currently watching him, a Commadant of the army, was forced to whip him.”

Kinoc’s head shot up and it took effort to keep the outrage off of his face. “You have someone who attacked him acting as a custodian?”

“Before he went into this state, he’s had meetings with the Commandant. My brother raised him personally to that position.” Lord Tyrion frowned at his disapproving silence. “You have to understand, my brother doesn’t have many allies here. I will accept help from wherever or whomever it’s offered.”

“Anything else?” 

“He was beaten when he bit our sister. I have no idea what she was doing to get so close to him. He spent four months in the black cells; there’s no light down there.”

_ It would be a miracle for this man  _ not _ to be insane,  _ Kinoc thought as the magnitude of the task ahead of him started to take shape. He hadn’t even seen his patient yet! This easily could be the most difficult case in his lifetime. He swayed a bit as he took stock of the list and allowed himself a moment to pity the poor soul who had suffered. Then he banished the pity and wiped the emotion clean from his face. “Is that all?” He asked.

“Yes, that should be everything. Shall we?”

“Yes, my lord,” Kinoc replied and stood. He didn’t bother hiding the journal and kept the quill and ink bottle at the ready.

They went down a single flight of stairs. Tyrion opened the door and led the way into the room.

It was a small room with a bed against one wall, a wardrobe on the far wall, and a trunk underneath the window. The shutters were drawn to keep the light dim. The first thing Kinoc noticed was a figure sitting huddled on the edge of the bed hunched over in on himself. Even with clothes, Kinoc could see the bony jut of his shoulders and the way his skin caved around his clavicle. His hair and beard were a wild and ungroomed tangle. He stiffened when they entered and hunched further. 

A squeak brought his attention to another figure sitting in a chair against the far wall. If his trembling lips were anything to go by, he was terrified. The figure was also dressed in a thick, woolen black robe and his hand was wrapped to an exaggerated degree with a bandage. He sighed in relief at seeing them. Kinoc saw red.

“Samwell Tarly,” he growled.

The man stiffened and stared up at him in surprise.

“How dare you profane the Citadel by continuing to wear its robes. You left in disgrace, flaunted the rules by keeping a woman in your room and stole tomes of priceless value. What are you doing here?” 

The rotund man sank into his chair as though he hoped the wall would envelop him. “I-I’m here to help!”

“And what help are you cowering back here at the far wall?”

“He bit me!” Tarly declared, pointing his wounded hand shakily at the patient.

“He is lost and confused! If you had bothered to stay at the Citadel long enough after learning how to wipe your ass, you could have learned basic healing!”

Tarly found his feet and though he towered over Kinoc, he quailed under his anger. “Queen Daenerys has pardoned me for stealing those books.”

“The Grandmaester and the conclave haven’t pardoned you. Their authority is what matters in the Citadel. You best submit yourself to him and beg for his mercy,” Kinoc replied coldly. “Those books better still be in pristine condition.”

“Sam, you best leave. It sounds like you have unfinished business with the Citadel,” Lord Tyrion said.

Kinoc was silent as Tarly made his way out of the room, still hunched and trembling. Once the door was closed, he said, “Now that that’s do—”

“Let’s get one thing straight: you do not have authority here; I am in charge of my brother’s care and I will decide who aids his recovery and who doesn’t,” Lord Tyrion hissed at him.

A warmth entered Kinoc’s face and he drew his mouth into a thin line in contriteness. He bowed in front of the Hand. “I apologize, my lord, but I will not stand and allow a dunce like him to have authority in the care of a patient. He has led you wrong in several places which I intend to remedy now.”

“In the future, if you have concerns about the people who are caring for my brother, you will bring them to me privately. I allowed it this time because Samwell’s “crimes”—for lack of a better word—against the Citadel are egregious. He is not a proper maester and it is disrespectful that he continues to wear the robes like he is one. Now, if we could address my brother—”

They turned to find Lord Jaime Lannister continue to stay crouched on the same spot. His hair was so long, that Kinoc could barely see his eyes, but the little bit that he saw showed anger and distrust. He was reminded of a snake coiled to strike. The man reached up and absentmindedly scratched his hair.

“May I open the shutters? I need to be able to see to examine him.”

“Jaime doesn’t like the light.”

“It’s only temporary. We’ll address the aversion to light some other time, but keeping it dim is otherwise the best way to acclimate him.” Kinoc opened the window. He was careful to keep his eye on the man, who cringed away from the light. However, by the time Kinoc had placed a chair in front of him, Jaime was no longer wincing and followed his every move. By Lord Tyrion’s own admission his brother was violent, so he expected he was in no less danger than anyone else. He wasn’t any more enthused about the situation than Tarly, but he was determined and that’s what he put at the forefront of his mind.

“Hello, Lord Lannister. My name is Kinoc. I am an acolyte of the Citadel. Your brother, Lord Tyrion, has enlisted me to help you. I first would like to examine you. May I do that?” Kinoc asked in a low soothing voice.

“He’s yet to respond to me.”

Kinoc never took his eyes from Jaime. “There’s always a chance he’s in there and can hear me. He’s a lord, so it’s safe to ask first anyway.” For his trouble he received a low growl in response.

"May I call him Jaime without the titles?" He allowed his eyes to stray to Lord Tyrion and saw him frowning tersely.

"Why would you need to call him by name? That's designated for family and friends."

"Exactly. Titles are cumbersome, it instills a distance, and he needs as many friends as he can get."

"No. He is a Lord Lannister and it's time he was treated like it."

"Very well," Kinoc replied. He wanted to roll his eyes. Those in the upper echelons put far too much emphasis on titles and clung to them like girls clung to dolls. He would have to make do. He allowed his eyes to roam over Jaime, making note of each scar. The infestation of lice was so thick he could see the bugs writhing in his beard. His beard covered his face, hiding his hollow cheeks, but it wasn't enough to cover the bruises of exhaustion on his eyes. He noticed that the right sleeve on his shirt was empty and vaguely recalled a rumor that Lord Lannister had lost his swordhand. It was clearly an old injury. He disregarded it for the time being. The only good thing to note was that his unhealthily pale skin was clean and his clothes were fresh.

"Can I touch you? I need to check your eyes and mouth." Kinoc waited for any confirmation, but received none. Jaime's eyes remained hard and unforgiving. Kinoc dared to reach over to place a hand on his forehead, but his hand was swatted away.

"He's not going to let me examine him. Would you be opposed to giving him dreamwine for a better assessment?"

Lord Tyrion sighed. "I didn't want it to come to that, but I'll allow it. Would you like me to fetch some?"

"Not yet. Would you call the other people who are caring for him? I need to speak with them."

"Perhaps you can convene in my solar? I'll watch my brother while you're addressing them."

"That's not necessary. I'd rather speak of Lord Lannister's care with him present. In my experience, it's unwise to count a patient out even if they appear far gone."

Lord Tyrion considered him and nodded. "I'll summon them." When he returned, he asked, "Do you have an idea of how to help my brother?"

"Yes, it should be fairly easy to address his physical needs. His mind is a different hurdle altogether. I need his trust, but I can't have that until we get past the violent outbursts. That is going to take time. Lord Lannister is a knight and has been a soldier for most of his life, correct? That means he's not used to accepting help."

Lord Tyrion nodded in affirmation. "He's always been independent and stubborn. Only Lady Brienne has been able to reach him."

Kinoc glanced at him sharply. "Who is she?"

The dwarf became guarded. "She saved his life, he saved her life. I don’t fully understand their relationship."

_ A love interest then? _ He’d have to enquire later.

Kinoc cracked open his journal and began writing.

"Now there's no need to jump to conclusions. I honestly don't know how he feels about her," Lord Tyrion said nervously.

"I'm taking note of everything I've seen and heard here."

Lord Tyrion's voice grew cold. "I caution you to be careful. This information isn't for the entire Keep. If I hear any of this floating around, I can lean on the Citadel to strip you of your status."

Kinoc looked up, his eyes flashing furiously. "I understand discretion, my Lord. Do the servants? It's hardly fair to pin me as the sole source of rumors."

"Just be careful."

There was a knock at the door. Two men of nearly equal height walked in. One was a graybeard who was still broad in the shoulder and strapping. The other man even broader if that was possible, blond and blue-eyed, young but there was a peculiar innocence or perhaps ignorance. He carried himself like a soldier, but not a noble one. Each of them could crush Kinoc to death in their arms.

“This is Ser Davos of House Seaworth and Commandant Cullen.” Tyrion waved at each one.

Kinoc stood once more from his chair and nodded at them both. “Ser, Commandant. I am Acolyte Kinoc. Lord Tyrion has requested that I oversee his brother’s care.”

“I haven’t approved you yet,” Tyrion replied. “I wanted to see what you had to say.”

“I am ready to give orders.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, for starters, you’re feeding him three meals of stew a day. That is both too much and not enough. The quantity is too large for each serving, but the servings are too far apart. He requires five servings of broth a day with maybe a couple of pieces of meat and vegetables. Anything more and he will have diarrhea as you have reported,” Kinoc replied.

“Now, the lice infestation that he has is...horrible. We need to get rid of it as soon as possible. There is a concoction that we have that can be massaged into the skin. However, his infestation is so bad, that it would be best if we simply shaved him clean of his hair and beard.”

“What?”

“His hair is too thick, the infestation is too set. While he is being shaved, the sheet and pillow need to be burned and replaced. So will his clothes. He needs new of everything.”

“No one can touch him still.”

“You’re going to have to dose him with dreamwine and make sure he doesn’t drown. At the Citadel, the acolytes frequently perform duties that would otherwise be left to the servants. I would be happy to help bathe and clothe him to make sure he’s handled with care and comfortable.”

He was pleased to see that everyone appeared engrossed by what he was saying.

“The goal, for the time being, is to make sure he puts on weight. Then the next step will be to get him to move to put on muscle. That’s a simplification but the primary area of concern is his mind.” Kinoc paused a moment to gather his thoughts and said, “The first thing I would like to do is establish a routine. People love routine. It structures their day and it makes them see how they fit in the world.”

“He was a kingsguard for half of his life. They live and die by routine,” Tyrion muttered.

“Within this routine, I would like to give him time to himself. You’ve all been very vigilant, but he hasn’t had time to work through himself what he’s going through. Someone being around means he’s constantly on the defensive and has his guard up. It’s exhausting. He needs to be able to let his guard down; he needs to be alone.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Ser Davos said. “He could hurt himself.”

“We’re going to need to make sure there’s nothing in the room he can hurt himself with, but...yes, he needs time to understand what he’s gone through. I say between shifts, we give him alone time. Does that sound fair, Lord Tyrion?”

The Hand rubbed his chin and said, “Jaime has always been a private person. I can see him struggling with having us at hand at all times. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“We have to try,” Kinoc replied. “I have dealt with a dozen patients with similar symptoms, though I don’t think any of them were as extreme of a case as your brother. This is one step of many. There will be a lot of trial and error. There are no easy answers. Is that enough for you Lord Tyrion?” He glanced over at Jaime who continued to remain silent and still. 

“It’s a better plan than what we had.”

Kinoc drew himself up and had to work to smother his smile. Jaime was going to be a difficult case, but the challenge excited him; he had barely been in the Red Keep for a half a day and already he had an assignment. “Thank you for this opportunity, Lord Tyrion,” he said soberly. “I will do everything in my power to help your brother, Lord Lannister, recover.”

Once more, Lord Tyrion weighed it and simply nodded.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, ser, commandant, I must report back to the Grandmaester. I will get the tonic for the lice infestation while I’m there.” He skirted them and strode for the door.

“Acolyte Kinoc.” He stopped halfway outside and turned back to Lord Tyrion. “Discretion if you will.”

“I won’t say anything that I don’t think is necessary, my lord,” he replied evenly. Once Kinoc was gone, the elation he’d felt at receiving such a challenge was smothered with the ease of a candle flame. He usually spoke only in vague terms regarding his patients to everyone outside of Archmaester Ebrose, even to his friend Aurus. But the Citadel was a place of learning. He was not blind to the politics that permeated it, but it was a safer haven than the likes of the Red Keep. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to maintain balance between Lord Tyrion’s desires and the Grandmaester’s thirst for information. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'm really sorry at how late this chapter is. I definitely hadn't intended that! Please forgive me.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience. Thanks as well for reading and commenting! It's reassuring to know I'm not an oddball for enjoying writing this dark tale.

**Chapter 14**

“Brienne, I have something for you,” Sansa said to her in a soft voice.

The large woman stiffened and glanced over to her lady, her hand clenching at the hilt of Oathkeeper. Sansa’s face was inscrutable, but she held up a rolled up piece of parchment.

“It’s from Lord Tyrion,” she held it out to Brienne.

Brienne stared at it feeling numb. Did she really want to read it? There was only one reason the Lord Hand to Queen Daenerys would be writing to her: Jaime. She felt her mouth go dry and her heart pounded in her chest. The worry about Jaime’s fate had gnawed at her over the long weeks. There were days where she was able to put it to the back of her mind and go about her duties in a normal although subdued manner. But every once in a while, she would sink into a pit of despair giving thought to Jaime’s fate.

He was strong, but even she’d had to berate Jaime to put him into a mindset to survive. Would he have the will to survive his sister’s torture on his own? His desire for his sister had both fascinated and disgusted her. There was simply no getting over the ingrained distaste against incest, but he had loved Cersei and she couldn’t bring herself to begrude him that. She had been pleased to hear that he had acted on his honor first when he had turned his back on Cersei. Would he be able to withstand the despair of having his own sister turn against him?

Brienne didn’t know. It had taken effort not to think too deeply about the twins’ relationship and she had kept her prying to a limit. Had the relationship been the death of him?

After a few moments, Brienne hesitantly took the scroll. She turned it and found the lion seal of Lannister seal gleaming and unbroken. The scroll trembled in her hand.

“If you would like, I will give you leave to read it privately,” Sansa said. There was pity in her eyes. While her Lady didn’t know the details, she seemed to have guessed enough to know what state of mind her sword was in.

Brienne finally unstuck her throat. “That won’t be necessary, my lady.” Before she could second guess herself, Brienne broke the seal and unraveled the scroll.

_ Lady Brienne of Tarth, _

_ I hope this scroll finds you well. King’s Landing has been retaken. Cersei poisoned herself. Jaime was released from his cell. Yes, he lives, but he is not well. He asks after you. If you could find it in your heart to come to King’s Landing, I know he would be pleased to see you. _

_ Tyrion _

Brienne let out a shuddering breath and it took every effort to blink away the tears that filled her eyes. _ He lives! He lives, he lives, he lives! _ The words sang in her head and for the first time since she’d heard the news her heart felt lighter than air.

“Good news then?” Sansa asked.

Brienne’s smile faltered as she looked at Lady Sansa. She had suffered so much at the hands of Cersei, did she harbor ill feelings towards Jaime too? The two had barely crossed paths at the Red Keep as far as Brienne knew. She nodded hesitantly. “Yes, my lady.”

“Do you wish to go and see him?”

_ Yes, _ the thought rang through her head with startling clarity. “My place is at your side, my lady.”

Lady Sansa raised her eyebrows at her in a knowing look and there was the slightest upturning of her lips. “Well, then it is particularly fortuitous that I am required in King’s Landing. It is important that the North be there to see the coronation of our cousin Jon as he rightly assumes the throne. It would please me if you were willing to escort me to King’s Landing.”

“Of course I will escort you, my lady.”

“I intend to leave in two day’s time. We will catch a ship in White Harbor.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You are dismissed for the rest of the day to prepare.”

“Are you sure?” 

Sansa smiled. “Your protection has outlasted the danger. I will be fine.” 

“My lady,” Brienne said again with a bow and hurried out. She headed straight to Podrick who had been spending his days since the Long Night helping restore Winterfell. She was almost surprised when Pod’s face lit up like the sun at the news. He’d been doing well at Winterfell and had grown into a solid fighter, but it seemed he couldn’t quite escape his longing for the south. 

“I’ll go see if Lady Sansa needs assistance,” he exclaimed and hurried away.

Her chest swelled with pride as she watched him go. He had grown into a fine knight. Maybe when Jaime was feeling better, she would ask him to knight Pod. He would understand. 

Or perhaps it was the promise of warmer weather that excited him. She, herself, was taken by surprise at the happiness she felt at the thought of the sun on her skin. Instantly her mind flashed to the white sandy beaches of Tarth, heated by the warm summer sun. As much as the winter was necessary, the gloom and rough seas that settled over the island had always left her glum. It was a little different in the North where the snow stretched across the endless expanse of the plains. It was quite beautiful to see new snow, untouched in the morning sun. Not even on Tarth’s coldest days had it ever snowed.

_ Jaime, _ she thought and closed her eyes, feeling the emotion well up into her throat. She would see Jaime again. After thinking him dead for so long, it was a welcome thought. She wilted as she thought back to Lord Tyrion’s words: _ He lives, but he is not well. _

What did that entail? She had heard stories of tortured men forgetting who they were. But if he had forgotten himself, how had he remembered her? Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she feared. Perhaps the torture was primarily physical and he was recovering his strength.

He had spent more than a year as Robb Stark’s prisoner. That had left him weak and wasted. This time it wasn’t a year, but four months. The time was still significant, but he had endured worse. In a little over a month, she would see him. The image of his golden hair and skin with that irritating smirk rose to the forefront of her mind. She imagined something in his eyes that seemed softer than it should be.

Jaime would never really look at her like that, but he didn’t have to. It was enough to keep the thought close in her heart. 

_ Soon, Jaime. Soon. _

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

Tyrion stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of him, lost for words. He spent most of his days writing letters to lords with requests of fealty and taxes It should have been second nature to him, but he found his mind wandering to that of his brother.

It had been a week since Acolyte Kinoc had marched into their lives and reordered it. The first big shock had been going in the first evening to find Jaime curled up on his bed. Kinoc was sitting near the bed, writing feverishly in his book.

“You got him to sleep,” Tyrion said, the awe apparent in his voice.

But Kinoc had grimaced and shaken his head. “No. That’s from the dreamwine. I said he was exhausted. He’s clean now and clean-shaven. The parasites should bother him no further, but I will continue the treatment until I am certain they are gone.”

When Tyrion looked at his brother again, he realized he could only see the outline of his brother under the sheets and not his head. When he stepped around, he sucked in a breath at seeing Jaime’s tangled, grime-ridden hair shorn, leaving skin not quite as smooth as Varys’. His beard was also gone. Somehow, Jaime seemed even tinier, his face more hollow, skeletal.

Tyrion was so perturbed by his brother’s appearance, he stepped away and tried to not look upset. The figure in the bed looked nothing like Jaime. Would he ever be the Jaime he remembered?

“I suggest you not look so disappointed around your brother when he wakes,” Kinoc said to him with a reproachful frown. “He needs positivity, not more gloom.”

He wanted to roll his eyes at Kinoc, but he restrained himself. The boy meant well and he had to trust that he somehow had his brother’s best interests at heart. It remained to be seen if Kinoc was truly that trustworthy.

Over the course of the next week, Tyrion was pleased to see Kinoc arrive every morning, full of fresh ideas. Once Jaime had awoken from the dreamwine, he seemed less volatile, but he remained glaring and bristling. Kinoc ignored his anger and carried on long, one-sided conversations as if they were old friends catching up. Ser Davos and Cullen still came by for their shifts, but those had been reduced to three hours apiece. Otherwise, Kinoc was there for hours on end chattering like a squirrel. One time Tyrion had passed the room, he heard what sounded like the healer reading from a book. A philosophy book. Tyrion chuckled at the thought that it likely put his brother straight to sleep.

As promised, he also left Jaime alone for large chunks of time which left Tyrion nervous.

“I understand your reticence, my lord, but your brother needs time to himself,” Kinoc had said. For a man with seemingly endless zeal, he was surprisingly grave saying that. Tyrion had nodded and prayed.

Halfway through the week, Tyrion had entered his brother’s room for his midnight shift to find Kinoc holding a piece of cloth to one eye. Jaime was, as always, resolutely mute and glaring.

“What happened?” Tyrion asked.

Kinoc pulled the cloth away to reveal a dark blue bruise around his eye. It had swollen enough that he could barely see out of it and his spectacles now rested askew on his face. “Your brother was having a nightmare. I woke him from it and he lashed out. It comes with the territory.”

“Your spectacles.”

“With luck, they’ll only need adjusting.”

Tyrion cocked his head. “You’re taking that surprisingly well.”

“I had a patient break two of the fingers on my right hand. _ That _ was miserable. I couldn’t write for a month.”

“I would never have taken being a Maester to be such a dangerous profession.”

Kinoc gave him what he presumed was supposed to be a significant look, but it was hampered by the swollen eye. “Discovery can be painful.” After a brief pause, he said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I would like to find my bed. Have a good night.”

Tyrion was pleased to see that once Kinoc had left, Jaime situated himself to sleep. Tyrion smiled. Previously, Jaime had refused to sleep until he had simply succumbed to it. 

“Goodnight, Jaime,” Tyrion whispered to his brother. He settled himself in the chair and picked up the book that Kinoc had been reading. _ The Philosophical and Metaphysical Properties of Deities around the World _ . _ I’m sure that’s a page turner, _ Tyrion thought and flipped it open. He himself drifted off after only a handful of pages.

Since that night, the only improvements Jaime made was that he no longer suffered with watery shit. Even after just a few days, Tyrion thought his cheeks and eyes looked less hollow. However, his behavior remained distant and churlish. His own faith in the maester was waning, but he did not complain. That Kinoc had made progress at all after Samwell had merely cowered was a boon, but he felt no closer to having his brother back than he did to Essos.

After some more time passed with Tyrion attempting to start the letters, he heaved a sigh of frustration and put them aside. Then he jumped up from his chair and went over to his bookcase, running his fingers along the spines, until he pulled the book he was looking for on the Westerosi Houses and lineages.

_ He appears Dornish, so I’ll start there, _Tyrion thought. He immediately ruled out the Martells. Their tree had been nearly uprooted and he doubted he’d be on such good terms with Kinoc if his family had suffered at the hands of Cersei. 

Kinoc certainly wasn’t a Dayne with those dark eyes. A quick glance at the pages ruled out House Jordayne and House Yronwood. He paused at House Allyrion once he noted the name Kinoc appeared among Lord Ryon Allyrion’s sons. He was the younger of the two, which would explain his being sent to the Citadel. Unlike other spares who might resent that lot, Kinoc had clearly embraced being a scholar. 

_ Lord Ryon Allyrion...he’s known for another son. Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace. He squired for Prince Oberyn Martell before the Prince’s...untimely death. _ Tyrion shuddered. It was quite rare to be overshadowed by a bastard, but Daemon’s reputation was markedly infamous. Was there any lingering resentment against his bastard brother? Or did the resentment instead carry to Tyrion for being the reason Prince Oberyn Martell volunteered and sacrificed his life in the search for justice? He would have to watch Kinoc carefully. 

Suddenly, Grey Worm barged into the solar. Tyrion jumped and slammed the book closed. “Can’t you knock?” He snapped.

The Unsullied was wearing a look of restrained fury. Commandant Cullen stood behind him dressed in his Lannister finest.

“Lord Tyrion, you are required,” Grey Worm said.

“What is it?” 

“There’s been a murder,” Cullen replied. It was said in a nonchalant manner and there was unconcern on his face.

Tyrion cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in question.

“In the streets, my lord. The Lannister soldiers have been implicated. Please come,” Cullen replied.

They headed into the bottom of the Hand’s tower where Qyburn had done his experiments. His grotesque equipment and their results had long been cleared out, but now there was a body stretched over one of the large tables. Tyrion maneuvered a chair over to stand on it and see. The man was dressed in fine clothes, but it was impossible to identify him with what remained of his face. There was a crater where his face had once been, now merely a mash of bone, hair, and blood filled the wound. On his chest, nailed into where his heart would be was a note stained with the trails of dripping blood. A jagged hand wrote: _ The Lannisters pay their debts. _

Tyrion bristled. “The Lannisters are being framed for this.”

“Maybe not you,” Grey Worm shot back, “but one of you. This was hate. Revenge.”

“How can you be sure?” Tyrion asked.

“He’s a former Queensguard,” Cullen replied. “He bent the knee when Queen Daenerys took control.”

“I ordered no such thing.”

“Are you suggesting Lannister command ordered this?” Cullen asked. His nonchalance had dissolved into stiff anger and his jaw was set at a truculent jut.

“Well, did you?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Cullen replied. “It appears that someone took justice into their own hands.”

Tyrion studied him for a moment and then said, “Come. Let’s see the soldiers. I want to see justice meted out.”

“At once, my lord,” Cullen replied and headed out. 

Tyrion reached over and ripped the note from the nail, folded it, and stuffed it into a pocket. 

“Queen Daenerys commands justice be delivered. In Unsullied, I am charged with discipline. I will do the same here if I must!” Grey Worm said.

Cullen bristled. “The Lannister army is my responsibility! I act as the commander and executioner."

Grey Worm’s expression was severe and mistrustful. "You will find the guilty and execute the soldiers responsible."

Cullen stepped up until he was toe to toe with Grey Worm and spoke in a low tone. "I am the Commandant of the Lannister army. My orders come from the Lannisters. If the guilty are among the army, they will be found and executed. Is that your command, Lord Hand?"

“Yes, we will investigate. Tell our king and queen that this will be investigated with all swiftness. Come, Commandant,” Tyrion said.

“Take Unsullied with you,” Grey Worm replied.

Tyrion opened his mouth to decline, but thought better of it. He was a Lannister and it was his brother’s army. He’d hoped that Daenerys would trust him to enact justice as was needed, but it wouldn’t hurt to have eyewitnesses. 

They hustled their horses out into the street. Tyrion and Cullen rode at the front with half a dozen Unsullied trailing behind them. The sun was long past its zenith and now floated just above the Keep, casting long shadows. One such shadow swept past them as Tyrion noticed one of the dragons fly against the sun, though it was so high up that Tyrion couldn’t be sure which dragon it was. The smallfolk still gazed up in awe, but they at least no longer flinched in terror. Despite the city being taken without loss of innocent life, it had taken some time before the smallfolk had felt comfortable with the dragons being a continual presence. When Drogon and Rhaegal were done for the night, they bedded down in the ruins of the Dragon Pit.

Once they were out of the city, Tyrion spoke up, “You know more than you are letting on. Do you know who did this?”

Cullen cast eyes back at the Unsullied and he said, “I had heard something among the soldiers, my lord.”

Tyrion’s frown deepened. “And you know why.”

He once again glanced at the Unsullied and set his mouth into a stubborn line.

“You will tell me.”

“I wish not to sully Lord Lannister where other ears might hear.”

“You have sullied both my brother and I by connecting us to this heinous deed. I demand answers! Now,” Tyrion shot back.

Cullen hunched his shoulders like a dog raring to attack, but finally he said, “The Queensguard in question punished Lord Lannister.”

“He was the one who tortured him?”

Again, there was hesitation. “No, my lord. He punished Lord Lannister for the bite.”

Tyrion released a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he asked, “What was the punishment?”

“You saw Lord Lannister’s face. That was the bruise.”

Anger stole over Tyrion. The bruise had been wide and deep. Jaime had flinched and moaned painfully when it had been initially touched. It had finally started to fade after the first week since he’d been rescued. However a question had been nagging him since he had seen the raw wound in Cersei’s cheek. He had initially dismissed it, but now with the full understanding of the wound on Jaime’s face, it brought it to the forefront. His curiosity got the better of him: “Do you know why Jaime bit Cersei?”

Cullen’s face turned tired and grave. He cast his eyes back to the Unsullied. “This may not be information suitable for present company, my lord.”

Tyrion felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down. “Tell me. Now. Please.”

Cullen looked pained. He opened his mouth a few times, clenched his teeth and said, “Cersei wanted an heir from Lord Lannister.”

Despite the warm ocean air, Tyrion thought his blood froze in his limbs. _ Wasn’t she with child during the negotiations? _ Had Cersei played him like a fool in more than one way? If she had still need of a child and she would only accept it from Jaime... _ No. No, it can’t be. She can’t have. _ Tyrion thought, but tears sprang to his eyes all the same. This time, when bile filled his throat, he leaned over the side of the horse and spewed onto the ground. He grimaced at the sour taste in his mouth and unashamedly wiped the residue off on his sleeve. 

Cullen watched him and said, “The Queensguard got what he deserved.”

_ Yes, he did, _ Tyrion thought savagely. If he were king, he would ensure that the rest of the filthy Queensguard suffered the same fate. But he wasn’t, however, he had the ear of Queen Daenerys. A serious crime had been committed against his brother and he would demand satisfaction. “The law is the law. It must be upheld. And not by vigilantes with an axe to grind,” he replied.

They fell into silence again as the Lannister encampment loomed closer with every stride. Once the shock of the news had passed, an all-consuming dread filled Tyrion. The entire Lannister army knew that Cersei had been raping and torturing their lord. He now understood Cullen’s reticence to speak. They took it upon themselves to exact a price and had simultaneously shielded Jaime by keeping the knowledge of his suffering quiet. Without a doubt, the details of Jaime’s torture would spread through the Keep like a disease. 

He could now see soldiers walking the perimeter and others in formation as they went through their paces. Still more were carrying buckets, mucking stalls, and otherwise performing their duties as was expected of them. At first, they stared in curiosity, but as soon as they were recognized, everyone stopped to place a fist over their heart in salutation.

The same grizzled veteran that Tyrion and King Jon had initially met while taking the city strode out of the large tent, saluted and stooped into a bow. “My Lord Hand, Commandant, this is unexpected.”

“We come with unfortunate business, Captain Logeth. Gather the soldiers who were taking their leave in the city last night,” Cullen commanded.

The captain nodded and barked a few commands. The Lannister army was still quite large despite its losses, so it took time, but eventually two score men were standing out in front of them. Cullen prowled the front, looking down each row. Tyrion could see they were a mixture of boys, the middle-aged, and hardened veterans. The boys had been in the company long enough that the site of their lord no longer showed on their face, but they shifted every so often and a few clenched their fists and fidgeted. All of the older men were as still and silent as statues.

“Soldiers,” Cullen addressed them. “It has come to our attention that the Queensguard Noland was murdered. A note was left on his body, implicating the Lannister soldiers. His face was caved in. You have shamed the Lannister House and wrongfully tied Lord Lannister and the Lord Hand to your actions. I command the guilty step forward and receive their just punishment.” 

Nearly all of the boys went stiff and wide-eyed with fear. They couldn’t resist shifting their eyes around, but they managed to stay silent. Tyrion’s gaze slid over all of the faces, determined to detect guilt, but his father had trained the army well. While the boys were nervous, their behavior didn’t suggest guilt, only the typical nerves that were associated with disappointing leadership, whether they were guilty of that or not. It reflected his father’s typical disciplinary methods to punish groups as a whole rather than individually. But for something this egregious, they wanted the guilty party only.

The long minutes stretched and still no one spoke. Tyrion frowned, wondering at such a method to announce it to all and sundry who the victim was. But the army barely knew him and he’d had little chance to prove his own worth on the battlefield. Just as much of King’s Landing had forgotten his role in the Battle of the Blackwater, he presumed none of them remembered him leading a contingent against Lord Robb’s false army. He stayed silent.

When the silence continued, Cullen broke it. “You’ve disappointed me. The Lannister army is trained to demonstrate discipline and responsibility. We will not tolerate or abet rogues in this delicate time. I hereby strip every last soldier, from the Captains to the foot soldiers, of their privilege to enter the city.” Even the nearby soldiers watching the proceedings began to whisper and murmur amongst themselves. “Make no mistake. The guilty will be found. Until then, no one is to go into the city!”

“Wait! Wait,” A grizzled man with deep lines that were a mixture of laugh lines and scars decorated his face. To have survived for so long with scars like that meant he was a good fighter and a loyal soldier. He straightened up and strode to the front. “I am the one responsible for the fate of that Queensguard.”

“Is that so?” Cullen replied and he stood in front of the man, nearly nose-to-nose with him. “What did the note say?”

“The Lannisters pay their debts,” the man replied. Tyrion had to admire that his voice did not waver as he spoke.

It took everything in his being to keep from babbling. The Queensguard had been tall, closer to Jaime’s height and this man stood a full head lower than Cullen. While Cersei wasn’t known for recruiting the smartest fighters, she had inclination and an eye for the brutal ones. This man had no fresh wounds to suggest there had been a fight. If he was a culprit, he was not the only one. _ He falls on his sword for you, Jaime. He falls on his sword for the army, _ Tyrion thought, shaking his head numbly. Jaime had only been in full command of the army for just a few short years and yet they were willing to die for him in a manner Tywin had only dreamed of. 

Cullen turned to nod at the Unsullied. They grabbed and marched him towards the center, forcing him down into a kneeling position. Cullen unsheathed his sword. Tyrion dropped from his horse and walked up to the man.

“You have committed the crime of murder. By order of Queen Daenerys and King Jon Targaryen I, you are to be condemned to death. Do you understand?” Tyrion spoke, his voice sounding faraway in his ears.

“Yes, my lord,” the man replied. 

Tyrion nodded at Cullen, his throat stuck. He had been tempted to thank the man for serving House Lannister, but he was afraid the words would be taken as tacit approval. Looking at the man, his heart swelled with emotion that the murder had been committed on Jaime’s behalf, revenge for all of the pain he had suffered at Cersei’s, Qyburn’s, and her Queenguard’s hands. It did not feel like justice to condemn a man—even just the one who may be guilty—to die for doing right by his lord. He went to stand by his horse as he watched the proceedings.

“I, Commandant Cullen of the army of House Lannister, carry out the sentence of death. May the Seven grant you mercy,” he recited. What liveliness and warmth was usually in Cullen’s voice was now replaced with the rote deadness of duty. “Any last words?”

“It was not my place to pay the debt, but I would do it again,” the man replied.

The slice was simple and quick. The man hadn’t even so much as uttered a sound. All of the soldiers continued watching in silence. Cullen directed four men to take the body and bury it. He pulled out a cloth and wiped the blood from his blade with a practiced familiarity. Before they mounted their horses again, he addressed the soldiers.

“I expect better behavior from each and everyone of you. We are no longer at war, but you are still in the Lannister army. You are beholden to the standards that Lord Lannister has set for us. All of us. I hate to disappoint him with this news.”

“If I may, Commandant, is Lord Lannister alive?” Logeth asked.

“Yes, he is,” Cullen replied in a quiet voice.

Another murmur ran through the army before it quietened. 

“Will we be marching home soon?”

Cullen stared at him for a moment too long and then said, “Return to your duties.” 

They rode back to the Red Keep in silence.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading and for your comments last chapter. They were so kind and thoughtful!

**Chapter 15**

Tyrion stared at his own thumbs as he twiddled them. Ser Davos had been named Master of Ships in the session and he was currently going over his duties with King Jon and Queen Daenerys. Now that Ser Davos found himself on the small council again, his commitment to helping care for Jaime was at stake. Until Lady Brienne arrived, they would be stretched thin. He’d have to consult Acolyte Kinoc about that.

However, at that moment, his mind was leagues away as though he were out to sea with the dragons. After the execution at the Lannister camp, he and Commandant Cullen had ridden back in silence. He had secluded himself to his solar and had to actively keep himself from grabbing the flagon of wine set on his desk. Despite spewing the contents earlier, his stomach felt full of lead and his heart throbbed with the pain for his brother. He was set to watch Jaime through the early morning and he had the small council meeting after breakfast to consider. 

He retired to bed, but all he managed to do was toss and turn as he recalled the way the old soldier’s head had fallen off with a brief spray of blood. How he saw the Lannister army stand paralyzed in grim sadness. And his thoughts ventured to Jaime and considered his mute, violent countenance. Is that how Tysha reacted to his betrayal? Did she awake at night screaming and thinking of him with anger and terror?

_ Cersei and I have both raped, _ he thought in horror. He’d had to roll out of bed and barely managed to grab the chamber pot before he was spewing again. The tears began flowing and he sobbed unabashedly. 

“I’m sorry, Jaime. I’m so sorry,” Tyrion whispered. “You didn’t deserve this.” He had crawled back into his bed and held the pillow close to him like a loved one. His tears gave away to a night of restless sleep. He stood and watched the line of soldiers rape Tysha all over again and then he joined them. Instead of pain and anguish on her face, her eyes full of tears, there was only rage. She lashed out at him and he refused to fight back. 

When he woke with a start, one of his arms had somehow twisted underneath him and he gingerly dragged it out rubbing at the pulled and strained muscles. He massaged his shoulder and looked over to the window, denoting it was still the dark of night, but the candle burning on his desk was considerably lower. He was likely late to replace Kinoc. He hurried down.

He felt like a ghost during the small council meeting. Normally, he was full of verve and fresh ideas, informing Jon and Daenerys about the politics and history of particular lords, but he didn’t even understand the words that were being spoken around him as their voices droned like buzzing bees. The only clear thought he articulated in his head was that he wanted something done about the Queensguard.

“Your Graces, I would ask you to stay. I must speak to you privately,” Tyrion said in a grave voice. 

Grandmaster Coryn and Ser Davos, the newly appointed Master of Ships, looked back in curiosity but continued to exit the small council chambers. Ser Davos lingered a tad as his eyes stayed on Tyrion, but then he left. No doubt he had suspicions that the conversation involved Jaime, but Tyrion had yet to divulge to those tending to Jaime what had happened. It had already swept through the Keep that a Lannister man was responsible for the brutal murder of a former Queensguard to Cersei Lannister.

Jon and Daenerys seemed to have a similar understanding. He looked grave and she had a cold expression. 

“Would this happen to be about the Lannister soldier murdering that former Queensguard?” Queen Daenerys asked.

“In a roundabout way,” Tyrion replied.

“Greyworm reported to me that you found the one responsible and executed him. Is that not correct?”

“No, Your Grace, that is correct.”

“What more needs to be done, other than ensuring that the Lannister army is controlled?” Daenerys asked in a scathing tone. Jon reached for her hand and squeezed it. She breathed out and attempted to relax.

“I actually wish to speak of the former Queensguard. More specifically, I wish to speak of their fates,” Tyrion replied.

“They surrendered,” Jon began. “They bent the knee and did not raise a sword to either us or our soldiers. If you wish to reconsider how we deal with those who surrender, then we may need to reconsider the fate of the Lannister Army as well.” The king shifted in his seat and there was a melancholy to his expression that Tyrion didn’t think was about having to play king when he plainly hadn’t wanted to.

“This is different,” Tyrion replied in a low voice, trying to control his anger. “The crimes the Queensguard committed under Cersei are much graver. Not to mention they are supposed to be knights of the nobility. A Lannister soldier is little more than a common peasant. While their discipline is sound, none of them have sworn to uphold any honor. The Queensguard are all knights who have forsaken their vows.”

“Their discipline appears less sound when they murder with impunity,” Daenerys replied. Her expression remained cold and muted.

“Except the one who murdered didn’t do so with impunity. His head was severed from his body and he was placed into the ground. I, your Hand, and Commandant Cullen saw to that,” Tyrion replied. “We have restricted the privilege of the rest of the army to visit the city in smaller numbers. However, these Queensguard spit on their honor and their oaths by facilitating the humiliation of a lord paramount, a helpless man who was already their prisoner.”

There was quiet as both seemed to contemplate it. Daenerys had drawn her mouth into a stubborn line clearly having not been convinced. Jon similarly shook his head in frustration and said, “First, we must know of what they stand accused of that there should be a punishment.” 

Tyrion drew his own mouth into a stubborn line. “It concerns the treatment my brother received in the dungeons. I would rather not speak it.”

“No,” Daenerys said with growing irritation. “I have been patient with you regarding your brother, but I have had enough waiting. Did your brother not also spit on his honor and his oaths when he slayed his king, my father? The rumors flying about speak of him as an oathbreaker and a hero. I intend to separate fact from fiction. That will have to wait until I can hear from your brother himself. Now, however, you must tell us what the Queensguard did and the condition of your brother if we are to make a proper and just judgment.”

Tyrion felt his heart pounding in his chest as he looked wildly between them, but they were a united front for once. King Jon had grown more comfortable with his new role over the weeks and no longer looked like a lost wolf looking for his pack.

The dwarf opened his mouth but found the words caught. He felt a sweat break out over him and tears well up in his eyes once more, but he determinedly fought to keep them from spilling. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep this quiet, to keep whatever was left of Jaime's pride intact. 

However, he recalled Cullen's words about Cersei demanding an heir from Jaime. She'd had him at her disposal for months and the Lannister army apparently had some idea of what Jaime suffered. He wondered if there was anyone who didn't know apart from his small circle of friends. 

“I...I don’t want to cause Jaime any more pain,” Tyrion said, cursing himself inwardly for the way his voice shook. “Can you please just take my word for it?”

He thought he saw a softening on Daenerys’ face and it gave him hope for an instant, only for Jon to dash it. “Tyrion, we can’t be seen wielding justice like a sword in favor of our friends. That is not just or honorable. The Queensguard stay free until we are given a reason to do otherwise.”

Tyrion felt the heat of his anger burning his insides raw and he clenched his trembling fists. He hadn’t even felt this angry when his own unjust sentence had been handed down upon him. At the very thought, he slammed his fists down and shouted, “I demand justice.”

“Lord Tyrion, control yourself,” Daenerys snapped back.

Jon drew his mouth into a grim frown. “I may have been a bastard with little experience governing, but I understand what justice is and isn’t. I will not condemn men to death for a crime I cannot be sure they committed. We will listen when you are ready to share the details.” His chair scraped across the stone as he stood to leave.

“Cersei demanded an heir from Jaime!”

Tyrion froze at the declaration. It had spilled out of him before he realized it and he began to tremble. After a while, he couldn’t keep their gaze and his eyes fell to the table.

They both stared at him. Jon appeared confused, but in a matter of moments, the truth seemed to dawn on Daenerys. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She had started to stand with the king and her hand that gripped the back of the chair tightened until he was sure she’d leave imprints in the wood.

“I don’t understand. We are familiar with your brother’s relationship with his twin. Are you certain this is something he wasn’t willing to do?” Jon asked. Daenerys glared at him and pointedly took a step back. He only looked at her in befuddlement.

It took every ounce of Tyrion’s being not to simply scream in rage at Jon. “How willing do you imagine him to be as her prisoner?! What do you think she did down there in the black cells for the four months my brother was chained up at her disposal? That is what the Queensguard are guilty of. They facilitated my brother’s humiliation, tortured him, and beat him when he resisted,” Tyrion spat. “Is that not certain enough for you?”

Tyrion violently swiped at the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes again. He kept his eyes focused on his bloodless knuckles as he continued to clench them and drew in a few calming breaths.

It was quiet for a moment as the words hung in the air.

“Need I remind you that Jaime was thrown into the Black Cells for daring to keep his promise and ride North to fight the Night King and the Army of the Dead?”

Jon shifted and his expression turned to one of dismay. Then he asked in a quiet voice, “How is your brother?”

“He’s clean, clothed, and fed. He’s finally started to gain weight after being left a skeleton. But he’s silent, angry. I don’t even know if he recognizes me,” Tyrion replied.

“I’m sorry, Tyrion. I can’t imagine what it’s like being seen as a stranger by a brother,” Jon said. 

He glanced over at Daenerys who continued to look shaken, though she had remained standing. When Jon touched her arm, she startled and stared at him. She seemed to struggle to speak just as Tyrion had earlier and finally said, “I will not tolerate rape in any form. They will be dealt with.”

“They committed a crime,” Jon agreed, “even if it was for another queen. Unfortunately, your brother’s history makes this complicated.”

Tyrion glowered. “He never raped anyone.”

Jon gave him an irritated look. “He killed King Aerys, Daenerys’ father. He crippled Lord Stark and left him vulnerable to the machinations of your sister. However, we will judge Lord Jaime Lannister when he is well enough to speak for himself.” The words chilled Tyrion to his marrow and he couldn’t keep the fear from his face. “As to those Queensguard, the Night King may be gone and the Wall broken, but there is still a need for a patrol on the border. The Night’s Watch has been depleted and will need more men. We’ll send them there. Is that enough for you?”

Tyrion sank. He had expected to feel victorious for having successfully argued for justice, but he had blurted out Jaime’s suffering for all and sundry to hear and it was now confirmed that his brother was to suffer further punishment for the murder that had only caused him misery. Even if he couldn’t be sure why his brother had taken those steps, he knew there had to be a reason. Jaime was never cruel without cause. Not like Cersei.

“I suppose it will have to do. Please excuse me,” he murmured and dropped down from the chair, then hurriedly walked out. He should’ve asked what they were planning to do with his brother. And when. But he could feel his throat closing up again with emotion and fought it back. ‘ _ That is enough, _ ’ he scolded himself.  _ ‘I can’t help Jaime if I allow myself to drown. We will heal him and I will enjoy what time I have left with him, however long that may be. _

With his new resolve, he was able to hold his head up high and have hope in his heart. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do something...weird here. In the show, Jaime apparently told Tyrion why he killed the Mad King, but you'll notice here that he doesn't know. This may be the show setting, but I do prefer the book versions of the characters. Granted, Tyrion is more of a smarter version of his show character since in the book he's bitter and vengeful after being sprung from his prison cell, but I decided to keep the detail in tact that he doesn't know why Jaime killed King Aerys or he almost certainly would've told Daenerys by now.
> 
> I also want to add that right now I am currently planning for Brienne to make her appearance in King's Landing in Chapter 18. Thank you for waiting! I know I'm evil and making you wait long, but I appreciate your patience!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I almost didn't get this out on a Saturday. Thank you, everyone, for reading this fic and bestowing it with your comments and your Kudos. I know it's rough not having a clear posting time table, but I hope you'll continue to be patient with me. For those who would rather wait for the fic to be finished or have more chapters, I understand. No hard feelings! Enjoy!

**Chapter 16**

Jon watched Tyrion leave feeling a mixture of sorrow and trepidation. He couldn’t even imagine how he’d feel if the fate of one of his brothers depended on the goodwill of his brother’s enemy. Ramsay Bolton hadn’t given him much opportunity to plead his case to save Rickon. Ser Jaime Lannister at least was at the mercy of a king and queen far more reasonable than the likes of Ramsay Bolton.

Yet still, Jon was frustrated. Ser Jaime had injured his...father—he would always be his father, if only in spirit—and butchered the Winterfell guard, which had left him vulnerable to Cersei Lannister. The entire War of the 5 Kings had been predicated by Lord Lannister’s willful actions to lay with his sister. And then he had further picked a fight with House Stark.

The War of the 5 Kings had led to Sansa and Arya to be tortured in their own ways, Bran driven from Winterfell, and his dear brothers Robb and Rickon to suffer a terrible fate. While the suffering of his family could not be attributed directly to Ser Jaime Lannister, it was difficult to lay blame elsewhere, especially since Lord Tywin was the one who had ultimately arranged the Red Wedding that caused a great amount of northern blood to be spilled. 

With so much stacked against Ser Jaime, Jon was not of a mind to be forgiving.

And yet...Ser Jaime Lannister had attempted to ride North to assist in the fight against the Others. He had even tried to convince his own sister and lover to suspend her campaign. He was ridden down, tossed into the cells, and tortured by his own blood for his efforts. He hadn’t yet seen Ser Jaime, but by all accounts, he had been hanging on by a thread when they took the Red Keep.

“I wish you hadn’t made light of his suffering.”

Jon started and turned to Daenerys who had all but whispered the sentence. She appeared pale and troubled by the exchange as well.

“I wasn’t making light of it,” Jon said, but Daenerys shook her head.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she replied, turning away.

Jon felt his shoulders tighten and ire rise. “Were you…? Did someone—I would kill them.”

Daenerys sighed. “He’s already dead. Before Drogo was my Sun and Stars, he used me like Lord Jaime’s sister used him. After a time I took my fate in my own hands, and things changed for us. I came to understand him and he understood me. I never thought we would return to such a time. Cersei was his sister and she used him like that when they were supposed to love each other.” She abruptly cut herself off and drew her lips into a line. Jon couldn’t miss their tremble.

He stared up at her feeling heartsick that his love had suffered so. Yet he didn’t understand what that betrayal must feel like. Even for all of Lady Stark’s anger towards him, she had never raised a hand against him. Although he had been the Wildlings’ prisoner, he had almost enjoyed the way his body had betrayed him in his desire for Ygritte. She had been dangerous, but that had only made the experience all the more thrilling. He had difficulty imagining the deed as anything other than pleasurable for a man.

Daenerys turned to head off to their rooms. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if to ward off the chill and her head was down. He got up to take her in his arms, but flinched when she sidled away with a shake of her head.

“Is there anything I can do?” He whispered.

“Give me time. I know you are different, and I love you, but I simply cannot take your touch now,” she said with sadness in her eyes.

“Of course. Rest well, my love,” Jon replied. Once she was gone, he ran his hand through his hair in aggravation. _ My careless words hurt her! I need to be more careful, _ he thought. He watched his own fingers tremble on the table. His own wife, his beloved queen, one of the more dazzling jewels of Westeros had suffered rape. Not just once, but many times. He recalled how changed Sansa was once they had reunited. There was pain in her eyes, a pain she’d never felt before. What had Daenerys been like? She had been so guarded when they had first met. It made sense since they were not yet on friendly terms, but now he wondered if she hadn’t been expecting the same of him as Khal Drogo. The very thought caused bile to rise up his throat, but he swallowed it down.

Jon could do nothing to change the past for his wife, but he could at least try to understand. He strode after Tyrion.

Servants and nobles alike bowed at his passing. He hurried past them, still feeling the prickling of irritation at being the center of attention. He hadn’t grown up to expect this: respect and devotion. He had lived so long as a bastard that he still felt like he was floating through the world in a different skin. The mantle hadn’t been entirely uncomfortable since he had been elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. However, his primary concern as Lord Commander was commanding his men who were practically soldiers. It hadn’t required him to govern and care for innocents. 

He had been King in the North but it felt so brief as to not be worth mentioning. He spent much of his time as king away then, seeking Daenerys’ aid against the Others. Then he promptly ceded his crown to her and received it back in a matter of months.

Jon didn’t feel like a king and he certainly didn’t look like one. A nearly forgotten memory edged to the forefront of his mind as he recalled seeing Ser Jaime Lannister in all of his splendor as a Kingsguard to Robert Baratheon. Soiled cloak or not, Jon remembered seeing his bearing, his chiseled features and that mane of golden hair and thinking _ ‘this is what a king should look like.’ _ He had outshone Robert Baratheon and even his own bastard son Joffrey. 

Even after their barbed exchange where Ser Jaime had nettled him for joining the Night’s Watch—of which Jon could only remember a feeling of bitter anger—he continued to marvel at how gloriously perfect Lord Jaime had looked.

He had last seen Ser Jaime in the Dragonpit and for all of the intervening years, with his golden mane long sheared off and the golden hand where his famous swordhand had been, he had cut an intimidating figure in his Lannister armor. Jon hadn’t liked the idea of facing him on the battlefield, especially once he’d heard from Tyrion that Ser Jaime had dared to charge Daenerys with Drogon at her side. On the one hand, he was beside himself with anger and fear that his love had been at risk of dying, but he couldn’t help but admire the courage it had to take to make such a gamble. It was only by sheer luck he had managed to survive.

And then it seemed Ser Jaime had attempted to do something that required even more courage: he turned his back on his sister in order to do what was right. Bronn had said it and the fact that he had been found in the Black Cells confirmed that Lord Jaime had tried to hold up their end of the bargain and ride North, only to be foiled and tortured by his own kin. _ Would Daenerys and I have been as forgiving back then? _He pondered. Perhaps she wouldn’t, but he would have. They had made an agreement and Ser Jaime wasn’t at fault for his sister’s actions. He had deserved a chance to fight at their side against the Others.

_ Perhaps he deserves a chance for mercy now, _ Jon mused, but something deep inside him still resisted. There was no denying Ser Jaime’s crimes, war or not. At the minimum, Daenerys deserved justice for the murder of her father. The Mad King may have deserved to die, but not that way, killed by his own Kingsguard.

That came to why he found himself at the foot of the Tower of the Hand. All of this speculation meant nothing if he could not at least see Ser Jaime and make his own evaluation. While he trusted Tyrion to be truthful, it was clear he would not be moved from his brother’s corner—_ Nor should he be expected to, _Jon thought with a sad smile—and therefore was unlikely to be wholly truthful about his condition. The dwarf did have a reputation for fancy words and stretching the truth.

Jon’s ears were open as he made his way to the solar of the Hand. He thought he heard a voice speaking at the second stairwell, but decided to go straight to Tyrion instead of prying. He nodded at the two Unsullied flanking the door and knocked.

“Who is it?” Tyrion asked in a lackluster voice.

“It’s Jon.”

Tyrion opened the door and frowned up at him. “I am surprised to see you so soon, Your Grace. Please, come in.”

“That won’t be necessary. I was wondering if I might see your brother.”

The dwarf’s face darkened. “Did you not believe me when I spoke of his condition?”

“Some things you have to see for yourself,” Jon replied.

“Very well. I only ask, Your Grace, that you heed my words and keep your distance. I’d prefer Jaime not to seal his fate by attacking you.”

Jon tensed at the words and frowned, but he followed Tyrion without further comment. As he had suspected, Tyrion knocked on the door with the voice coming from behind it. It took a moment, but then the door opened a crack. “Yes?” A young man peered out and then his eyes grew wide and he hastily opened the door wider, straightened up, and bowed. “Your Grace! My Lord! I apologize for my idleness.” Jon took note of the black eye that had started to fade to green.

“That’s fine, Kinoc. King Jon is here to see my brother. How is he?”

The young maester drew his mouth into a flat line and said, “He’s...calm, for now. He doesn’t like having a lot of people in the same room. He has to keep his eye on everything after all.”

“Hmm…” Tyrion exchanged glances with Jon. “Perhaps it’s best if I stayed out here. Your Grace.” The dwarf gestured forward.

“Uh...forgive me, Your Grace, but permit me to enter first? I must tell Lord Jaime that you’re coming.”

Jon frowned and glanced between the two. “I thought you said he didn’t recognize you.”

“We don’t know what he’s thinking, Your Grace,” Kinoc said. “He has shown no indication that he recognizes Lord Tyrion as his brother. In my studies, I have found that it is best not to underestimate the cognitive abilities of those who seem gone. If I inform him of your arrival, it may be that he will be less confused and therefore less hostile.”

Jon nodded and Kinoc slid back inside, leaving the door ajar. 

“You may enter, Your Grace,” Kinoc says loudly after a moment.

Jon hesitated with his hand hovering over the handle on the door. Despite his trepidation, he could no longer ignore the aching curiosity of just understanding what had happened to Lord Jaime and he pulled open the door. Just as he walked in, he saw the figure on the bed, and stopped short in shock.

A bald man was perched on the edge of the bed with a glaring expression. His clothes fell around him like blankets and in the gaping neck of the shirt, Jon could see the sharp edge of his shoulder blade. His arms were wrapped around his legs making him appear little more than a small child, one with a missing hand. Ser Jaime lazily drifted his gaze to him and when they locked eyes, he hunched his shoulders and he began growling.

“Lord Jaime, please! This is the king. He’s not here to hurt you,” Kinoc said, abruptly placing himself between him and Jon.

“What did they do to him?” Jon heard himself whisper. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Ser Jaime. He hadn’t been merely humbled, he had been kicked off of a cliff. Losing his sword hand was like tripping in the woods by comparison. Not even Bran had suffered like this after his fall from the Broken Tower.

He had wanted nothing more than to punch Ser Jaime in his smug face back in Winterfell for his slights to the Night’s Watch. His fingers had itched to strange both him and his sister for their near-sighted rejection of their temporary truce. 

Jon backed out of the room. When he turned, Tyrion’s had an expression that was somehow both forceful and cautious. Jon could see him winding up to defend his brother once more. “They will be punished, Tyrion. They deserve death. But they will have to find it at the Wall.”

“Pardon, Your Grace, but who deserves death?” Kinoc asked. He quietly closed the door behind him and while the question sounded innocent, his eyes were accusatory. 

Jon exchanged looks with Tyrion and raised his eyebrows at him.

“Justice, Kinoc. My brother will get justice.”

Kinoc was quiet for a moment as he looked back from one to the other, his expression becoming more thunderous by the moment. Still, in a calm voice he said, “You’re hiding something.”

“It’s not your concern,” Tyrion replied.

Kinoc drew himself to stand taller than even Jon as he glared down at Tyrion. “I am your brother’s caretaker,” he whispered fiercely. “I can’t _ heal _ him if you don’t tell me everything about him.”

“Acolyte Kinoc, you will watch yourself,” Tyrion hissed back.

Kinoc did not back down and only continued glaring.

Jon edged away. This wasn’t his battle. He would allow them to hash out whatever disagreement they had between themselves. He blinked when he entered the sunlight and despite the warmth of the sun, he felt himself shiver as he recalled the snarling and hunched creature that was Tyrion’s brother. There was no question about giving Tyrion all of the room he needed to recover his brother. At this point, Jon wasn’t sure if condemning Ser Jaime to death wouldn’t be a mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about why Jon keeps thinking of Jaime as 'Ser,' it's because that's the title he's most familiar with. If he were to speak his name aloud, he'd say 'Lord,' but he still thinks of Jaime as the Kingsguard and that's a hard thought to shake from his head.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all so good to me! Thank you for being so patient! I know it's difficult to hold out for a story that has a question mark for when the next chapter is going to come out.
> 
> Just so you're aware there is going to be more **triggers for rape** this chapter in which how rape victims are observed. Sorry about that! I do think you'll agree that there is a distinct turning point by the end of this chapter and there will be a lot less doom and gloom.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 17**

Kinoc stared, transfixed, at the candle that flickered before his weary eyes. He lay in bed, but despite the late hour—or was it early?—he could not seem to quiet his mind. As had long been a bad habit for him, his mind gnawed on a problem like a dog with a bone. And that current problem was Jaime Lannister.

It had been a full day since Lord Tyrion had revealed that his brother had been raped by his sister. Kinoc hadn’t a clue as to the frequency of the rapes, but given that she’d had him captive for four months, it had to have been many. Perhaps even a dozen or more. His stomach churned and he clenched his teeth as bile rose into his throat at the thought. When men were raped, they were usually sodomized by other men. He didn’t think there was a single recorded case in the Citadel archives of a man being raped by a woman. There had been a single male rape patient at the Citadel since Kinoc had become an Acolyte.

He had been called Sundar. It wasn’t his real name. Sundar had been a sharp contrast to most of the women who were often treated for rape in the Citadel. He had attempted to be nonchalant, but when pressured he could become as savage and aggressive as a polecat. Sundar had been determined to believe that nothing was wrong or could even be wrong, yet the vicious screams in his sleep said otherwise. He was the first lesson in understanding that patients could only be saved if they wanted to be.

The women who were treated at the Citadel had often been fearful and trembling, cringing at nearly every movement. They watched every person who wandered by their beds as though expecting to be attacked, whether they were the most ancient of Archmaesters or simply one of the servants. It was by happenstance that Kinoc spotted one of the victims chatting amicably with a maid who collected the laundry. After that first instance, he seemed to notice the women relaxed around the maids. As soon as a man entered the ward, the peace was broken and the women resorted to being wary and disconsolate. For not the first time, Kinoc had ruminated on how frustrating it was that women were not accepted at the Citadel. It was clear to him that a woman might better reach these victims than a man. 

He’d only dared to bring up accepting women once and had been so thoroughly berated about the inherent inferiority of women that it had left Kinoc’s ears red. It ended with a punishment to clean the bedpans in the women’s ward for a month. Having grown up in Dorne where women were held in higher esteem, the opinion had never left him, but he had wisely kept his mouth closed about it. His status as an Acolyte was not the time to advocate on behalf of women, but someday, perhaps, when he was Archmaester, he could start easing the change to allow it.

But for the time being, he had Jaime Lannister to focus on and his mind seemed unable to let it go. He continued to gain weight and strength with each passing day, dutifully eating the stew brought before him, but he continued to huddle over it like he expected it to be stolen. He had growled at the king the other day but had otherwise stopped sounding like a cornered cat in Kinoc’s presence at least. However, that could change in an instant. His mood was mercurial and he lashed out when aggravated. One time Kinoc had been writing in his journal when Jaime’s hand had come out of nowhere and slapped it to the ground. Kinoc’s mouth had gone dry and his breath ran short at the thought of his beloved journal being damaged beyond repair. Only the page he had been writing was ripped and with the ink now smeared it was a simple matter of removing it. Kinoc had decided that the source of the outburst had been the scratching of his quill against parchment, so he had set aside the journal. He now dared only write when Jaime was either asleep or when he was back in his own room.

Jaime’s boycott against speech also continued, only occasionally broken during his violent nightmares. There were patients in the Citadel who had been similarly muted by tragedy. Before Kinoc’s time, there had been a man who had regained his voice. In the account Kinoc had pored over, the attending Maester noted that the man had wanted to speak but could not figure out how. Was Jaime a similar case? Did he want to speak?

Kinoc had decided that Jaime’s willingness to eat—even if unnaturally slow for the emaciated state he was in—had to be an indication that he wasn’t quite ready to die. That he would not wallow the rest of his days away like Sundar. Jaime was the first patient of nobility he had encountered. Nearly all the other patients were primarily the peasants of Oldtown. It was a miracle if any of them understood basic sums, so Kinoc had hoped that Jaime’s education would lend itself better to recovery than otherwise. He started leaving a quill, a scrap of parchment, and a sanded piece of wood for a flat surface within Jaime’s reach. He had done little more than glance at it and had never reached for it, at least not in Kinoc’s presence. Every day he checked the scrap and found it blank.

_ I need to be patient, as I told Lord Tyrion. This is a waiting game, _ he cautioned himself but the low burn of frustration caused his mind to spin like a wheel going down in a hill in a desperate bid for answers. 

Lord Tyrion had sent a letter to a Lady Brienne. This lady was...special to Jaime. To what extent, Lord Tyrion didn’t even know, which was equally frustrating. Lord Tyrion had announced that she was en route to King’s Landing and would be there in a matter of weeks. The little he gathered is that she was unlike most ladies and would have likely found more friends in Dorne than anywhere in the north. During the War of the Five Kings, she had been responsible for Jaime’s safety as they worked their way back from King Robb Stark’s army to the Lannister side of the country. However, that had been the journey where he’d had his hand sliced off. 

It was not a time period that Lord Tyrion was thrilled to talk about, but he bent under pressure by Kinoc with the reassurance that it would likely help Jaime. By his account, Jaime was nearly an entirely different man. Lord Lannister had been brave and handsome, haughty, cocky, and, in some respects, merciless. Yet when he returned without his hand, he appeared to have been humbled. He acted arrogant and self-assured but had become clumsy and subdued by the loss of his sword hand. Even Jaime’s love for his sister had transformed as the stump apparently disgusted her and, by extension, caused him to be disgusting to her as well.

_ She raped him in a bid to recreate perfection in the form of a child, _ Kinoc thought and felt pain stab into his head at the thought. Trying to wrap his mind around the twisted logic felt like it was too much for his brain to handle. He could tell that Lord Tyrion wasn’t quite telling him everything, but for once he didn’t pressure him on it. It was too much for him to even  _ want  _ to understand. What he’d learned, what he had come to understand, was that rape was not about the sex. It was an exertion of power. The one who raped wanted power. Jaime had slipped out of Cersei’s hands and to punish him—to place him back into her power—she raped him. 

To add to the damage, she had placed him in the Black Cells, a place with no light, for four months. There had been experiments conducted at the Citadel, with prisoners and even maesters—those who voluntarily wanted to understand the effects of a long term exposure to darkness—and the reports were a horror to read. After fifteen days, one was apt to fall into madness. The maesters had heard voices, seen illusions, had—in the words of one—”dreamed without end.” The maesters had made a recovery but one Maester bothered to mention that even years past, his mind still felt the scarring of that experience.

And yet, Jaime did not appear to be mad. He didn’t make exclamations or talk to people who weren’t there as was typical with most madness. He was alert, he did react—though unfavorably—but, as far as Kinoc could tell, his true self was still in hiding. But how to make Jaime aware that he didn’t have to protect himself anymore?

Lady Brienne was supposedly the opposite of Cersei in every way. From what he gathered, she was as attractive as she was lady-like. He had his doubts that she was truly as ugly as Tyrion hinted at, but she met the standard for a traditional knight. She was said to practically breathe honor and vows. 

Was this something that Jaime would attach himself to? Would he even notice her? Recognize her?  _ There’s also a possibility of rejection, _ Kinoc thought to temper himself. He had seen women cower from their husbands when visitations were made. Kinoc assumed it was lasting trauma from the rape that led victims to even reject family.

He shut off the line of thought. Speculating about an event that had yet to pass was only prolonging his suffering. He needed sleep.

“Kinoc...are you still awake?” 

He blinked as his friend, Aurus, sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. It was only then that he realized a gray light was filtering into the room and the candle had burned down into a nub. He grunted.

“You really need to sleep,” Aurus said. “I know you’ve been pushing yourself to help this...patient, but remember, your care is only as good as the care you give yourself.”

“I’ve run up against a wall,” Kinoc muttered. “I can’t quieten my mind, but I don’t know what else to do for this patient. He’s so far gone, I don’t know how likely it is to bring him back.”

“That’s enough,” Aurus snapped, which got Kinoc’s attention. “Being defeatist will ensure that the patient remains as he is. You have to push past that, but you’re not thinking clearly because you’re so tired. Sleep!”

Kinoc sighed. “I’m due back to watch my patient for a few hours.”

“No, I’ll watch your patient. I will make your excuses and stay in your stead,” Aurus replied firmly as he began freshening himself up for the day.

“I rather doubt Lord Tyrion will allow that. He’s...picky about who watches his brother.”

“I will tell Lord Tyrion what I just told you.”

Kinoc couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed, so he just sank further into it and sighed. He allowed his eyes to flutter close and he said, “I was thinking about bringing you into the circle.”

“Hmm?”

“The patient is getting stronger. He needs to rebuild his muscles.”

Although Kinoc’s eyes were closed, he could hear the warmth in his friend’s voice, “Sounds like my specialty.”

Kinoc nodded. “Be careful, Aurus. I cannot get him to relax. He remains as tense as a lute string. I don’t know what more I can do to make him comfortable.”

“Have you thought about introducing an animal to him?”

Kinoc’s eyes shot open and he sat up in bed. “What did you say?”

Aurus frowned. “No, rest! Don’t you recall? We’ve had patients in the past who thrived off of animal contact. You remember Mervis, right? He had a murder of crows by the time we released him from the Citadel.”

Kinoc settled in as his friend commanded but he could feel his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest as his mind raced with the possibilities. As far as he knew, Jaime had never had a pet though.  _ Oh hells, it’s worth a shot, _ he thought. Now that his mind had latched onto a solution, he felt himself sink into his bed and sleep washed over him.

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

  
  


When Kinoc jolted awake a few hours later, he only just brushed his hair into kempt before rushing over to the Tower of the Hand. When he checked on Aurus, he found him sitting as far away from Jaime as he could. Jaime was crouched on the end of his bed glaring at Aurus with more energy than Kinoc had seen from him. Jaime’s shoulders hunched when he entered the room as well.

“Come with me. I want us both to speak to Tyrion.”

Aurus blinked. “What about Lord Lannister?”

“We’ll lock the door, but I don’t foresee any trouble from him. There are periods of the day where he’s left alone for a time and he hasn’t done anything drastic yet.”

“If you’re sure,” Aurus replied and then he slammed his book closed and followed him out.

When they entered the Hand’s solar, he seemed less than thrilled about the interruption.

“Is something wrong with my brother?”

“No, my Lord Hand,” Kinoc replied.

“Then why aren’t you watching over him?” Tyrion didn’t let up from the letter that he was writing, but the disapproval emanating from him was clear.

“If you’ll recall, I suggested he needed time alone to process what has happened to him. But, enough of that, Aurus and I had an idea that might help your brother.”

“Do tell,” Lord Tyrion said, though his words sounded less than enthused.

“Has your brother shown much affinity towards animals?” Kinoc asked.

This caught Lord Tyrion’s attention and he blinked up at them. “What does that matter?” He had stopped writing the letter.

“We’ve had patients in the past use companion animals as a means of getting better. There’s something about the animals they attach to that allows them to...relax. Get into a better place. Have a...friend that doesn’t judge them,” Kinoc offered as he struggled to find a way to describe it. Most of Westeros saw animals as tools only. To suggest that an animal could be something of comfort was a foreign concept even to most nobles.

“An example?”

“We had a patient who suffered an injury that left him without the use of his dominant hand,” Aurus said. “It drove him into a deep sadness. Nothing we offered him could seem to lift his spirits and motivate him to continue living. One day he rescued a baby crow. When we released him, he had half a dozen crows that would feed out of his hand. He was happy to find his way with his crows.”

“We even had a patient who was ailing for some time. He could barely get out of bed to do the bare minimum to take care of himself. He was close to death,” Kinoc added. “His favorite animal was a snake. Not my first choice for a companion, but he had two of the rat snakes found in Old Town. They were his motivation to get up in the morning. He lasted six more months before that illness took him. He was infinitely happier because of those animals.”

Lord Tyrion looked at them both as they stared at him like a pair of boys hoping for sweets. He finally gave a small smile as he used the feather end of the quill to tap at his cheek. “Well...I know my brother loved the hunting dogs as a child. He would help the Kennelmaster feed them and play with them. When my father found out, he banished him from it. Said it wasn’t the proper activity for a lord.” 

Before they could comment, Tyrion continued, “Jaime did have a horse named Honor that he was quite fond of. It was roasted by Drogon.” Tyrion winced.

Both Aurus and Kinoc blanched. Kinoc cleared his throat and said, “Well, that does sound, uh, promising. Given his state, I do not think an animal like a horse or a dog would be ideal. Far too high maintenance.”

It was Tyrion’s turn to grimace. “I hope you’re not suggesting filling his room with birds.”

“Absolutely not,” Aurus spoke up quite firmly. “I was the one who had to clean the room that had the crows. Bird droppings everywhere! Very unhealthy.”

Kinoc barely stifled a laugh and then said, “I grew up with cats. We’re quite fond of them in Dorne since they keep the food stores free of rodents. They can take care of themselves with minimal effort. I think we should get him a cat.”

Tyrion nodded to himself, but his amusement had transformed into melancholy. “My nephew King Tommen had kittens. I wonder if they’re somewhere around here…”

“What are their names?” 

“Let’s see. It’s been a long time and I didn’t pay much attention to the lad and his kittens. No one paid much attention to him,” Tyrion said. “I know one was Ser Pounce. He seemed to have the most exploits. There was...Lady something. And then the last one was called...something simple. I’m afraid I can’t recall. They were all black.”

“Hmm...that doesn’t really narrow it down,” Kinoc said. “No matter. We’ll think of something. Now, Lord Tyrion, if Aurus didn’t tell you, I would like to make Aurus a permanent part of the team for healing your brother. It’s not enough that your brother is gaining weight, he needs exercise to regain his muscles so that he may walk and be as he was before. Aurus is good with that kind of treatment.”

Aurus bowed and his cheeks pinkened with the compliments. “I have been assisting patients in muscle regeneration for four years. I would be happy to help your brother, my Lord Hand.” 

Lord Tyrion was once more inscrutable as he assessed Aurus. “The same rules about discretion apply to you just as they apply to Kinoc. Is that understood?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Aurus said. 

When they left the Hand’s solar, Kinoc said, “I’ll look after him for now. Try to find a suitable cat.”

“Hmm...how young of a cat?”

“I think we want an adult at least. It needs to have some measure of self-care and defense. We can’t know what his reaction will be. We don’t want...something unfortunate to happen to the animal.”

“Do you think he would be that violent?” Aurus asked with a skeptical look.

“Better to be cautious,” Kinoc replied, but his stomach churned at the thought of the animal meeting an unfortunate fate. He enjoyed cats and every week he had taken time to dote on his favorite strays in Old Town. He hoped they were managing without him. As with everything, Maesters were only allowed to keep ravens and those were strictly for messages, not as pets. Sometimes life in the Citadel was a bit bereft. “Also, make sure the cat is clean. We don’t want to give him any more parasites.”

Aurus gave him an incredulous look. “I’ll just build a wooden bridge over a live volcano while I’m at it.”

“You’ll live.”

“I expect payment in ale.”

“Done,” Kinoc replied. Just as Aurus started to walk away, Kinoc added, “Thank you for your help. I’d still be hitting my head against the wall if not for you.”

Aurus gave him a smirk and gave him a mock salute. Kinoc chuckled and unlocked the door. Jaime was curled up on the bed, resting, and surprisingly didn’t start at his entrance. Kinoc paused for a moment to consider this. It appeared to be yet another step in the right direction.  _ As long as we keep making progress, there is always hope, _ he thought. 

He knew it was entirely likely that Jaime could take two steps back the next day, but these gains were important, no matter how small.

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

It took Aurus two days to find a cat. 

“It’s black. It was the boldest of the ones I saw and seemed the most comfortable with people. She came right up to me when I dangled some meat to her. She’s a scrawny little thing, but she cleaned up well, don’t you agree?” Aurus asked as he held the cat on his lap, stroking her back. Even from across the room, Kinoc could hear her purr.

“She’s perfect,” Kinoc replied. “Probably wise to get a female. We don’t need a male scent-marking the whole damn tower.”

Aurus wrinkled his nose. “That would be most unpleasant. She seems pretty young, too, but not too young. Do you think it could be one of King Tommen’s kittens?”

Kinoc shrugged. “Maybe. Seems ridiculous to speculate. There are cats all over this damn city. They only need to be 6 months old to start breeding. For all we know, this could be a daughter.” Kinoc stepped over and held his hand out to the cat who sniffed it gingerly before closing her eyes and seemed to purr louder.

“You’re right.” There was a pause as they both enjoyed petting her for a moment. “I hope this helps,” Aurus whispered. 

“Me too,” Kinoc said.

The next morning, Kinoc wrapped the cat up in his robes to make sure she was secure and began his journey across the grounds to the Tower of the Hand. Most of those awake were servants and they stared at the cat who peered out from its bundle.

Tyrion was there dozing in the chair next to his brother and he started when Kinoc opened the door. He appeared stunned as Kinoc walked in. “Did you find Tommen’s kittens?”

“Perhaps? It’s just the one. A female. Aurus found her. She’s been bathed and groomed.” Kinoc crouched down beside Lord Tyrion’s chair. The dwarf reached a hand over to pet it, but the cat flailed a paw at him. “She’s a sweet cat, I promise. Just playful.”

“Feisty,” Lord Tyrion chuckled. “Should I wake him?”

“Did he have a quiet night? He fights sleep when I’m around.”

“No screaming, but he did mumble and whimper a lot. He sounded afraid. I’m still not used to seeing my brother afraid.”

Kinoc contemplated it and said, “It’s not unexpected. He’s been through a lot. We just have to be patient.” It was then he looked up and his eyes connected with Jaime’s. His patient had been silently listening to them. He nudged Lord Tyrion with his elbow. “Do you like cats, Jaime?” He opened up his arms so that the cat was free.

Jaime pulled himself up so that he was glaring at them from a higher position, but his eyes fell on the dark form of the cat and his glare lessened. The cat very plainly was looking around the room, but then fixed its wide eyes on Jaime. It cocked its head and nimbly jumped onto the bed. While Jaime didn’t reach for it, he didn’t shove it away either. 

_ This is promising, _ Kinoc soothed himself as he and Lord Tyrion waited with baited breath.

Jaime continued to warily regard the cat, but he tilted his head curiously. As it approached closer, Jaime remained still. It placed its front paws on his thigh and leaned up to sniff at him. He leaned down to meet it. When Jaime raised his left hand near the cat, she rather forcefully nuzzled into it, which caused Jaime to stiffen. For a moment, Kinoc was afraid he would shove the cat, but then he relaxed and held his hand out to the cat where it continued to nuzzle it.

“It’s working,” Tyrion whispered.

“Shhh,” Kinoc hissed, but the spell was broken and Jaime snapped his head to them and glared. But he was distracted again when the cat tried to climb fully into his lap. He sat back until the cat had curled up on one of his legs. He still didn’t pet it, but he was reluctant to move it.

_ One giant step forward, _ he Kinoc thought with a silent sigh. If there was any proof that the Jaime they were looking to pull out was in there after all, he felt this was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who makes an appearance next chapter? 
> 
> Now the cat in question gets its behavior from my cat who is bold and demanding when asking for attention. However, the model for the cat, I imagine to be my brothers black 1-year-old cat who is a joyous hellion.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I was so excited to get to this chapter that I wrote it up as quickly as I could. Thank you, dear readers, for sticking this out with me. I know it's been a long journey. I know it's been painful, but I thank you so much for reading and for your encouragement. You're all wonderful!
> 
> I can't believe we're already over 50K words into this WIP. Why do I do this to myself?

**Chapter 18**

Brienne watched the approach of the Red Keep from the deck of the ship. Her mouth felt dry and she felt her heart pounding in anticipation. She glanced over at Lady Sansa. Her Lady had dressed formally in a grey and blue gown of light fabric to give her air in the warm south. Sansa’s face was drawn into an impassive look that she appeared to have learned from her time in the South. Podrick was standing dutifully by her side.

The atmosphere was decidedly grim despite the celebratory occasion. About a week prior, Brienne had walked on the deck to find Sansa and Podrick leaning over one side of the ship. Brienne stepped closer to join them and stopped at the turn of their conversation.

“—matter who is king, I will never be able to sleep in the Red Keep without recalling Joffrey’s and Cersei’s torture,” Sansa said and she shuddered. “There are no pleasant memories here and I’m afraid the past will only taint the new ones.”

“Only if you let it, my Lady. Joffrey is dead. Cersei is dead. They cannot hurt you anymore. King Jon and Queen Daenerys rule and have filled the halls with their allies. You are safe,” Podrick attempted to encourage her.

He reached over to take Lady Sansa’s hand in his and gently squeeze it. Brienne’s eyebrows raised at the overt gesture and she was equally surprised when Lady Sansa turned her hand over to squeeze it in return. Brienne took her cue and stepped back to stand on the other side of the ship.

She had not seen Podrick and Lady Sansa interacting quite this intimately, even up to now on the ship. But then she had only guarded Lady Sansa for part of her time. The rest she was still training the fledgling soldiers or helping to restore Winterfell after its battle with the Army of the Dead. She’d had a mind to snap at Podrick about his behavior around a lady, but if Lady Sansa didn’t object then why should she?

Their small gesture of closeness only caused her heart to ache all the more. It had been years since she had been at the end of such a small gesture, the last one being with Jaime outside of Riverrun when he had simply pushed  _ Oathkeeper _ back at her.  _ “It’s yours. It will always be yours,” _ he’d said and there had been a warmth in his eyes that made her feel like the sun was shining down on her. 

Brienne felt tears well up in her eyes, convincing herself it was the biting wind that brought them. She had missed Jaime, more than she was willing to admit. It chilled her to think she had come so close to never seeing him again, yet she was only hours away from meeting him. Or so she hoped. Envisioning his bright green eyes and his infuriating smirk was the only thing that had made the long voyage from White Harbor to King’s Landing bearable.

However, as the ship edged closer and closer to the docks she felt the palms of her hands begin to sweat and she started chewing her lip. Would Jaime be as he was? She had been rolling this question over in her head the whole voyage as well and assuaged her conscience by telling herself that she would be there for him, no matter what.

When they docked, they found a pair of horses and a carriage waiting for them. Brienne led the way, her eyes moving slowly across the streets for a threat of danger, but everything appeared calm. Peasants were going about their business and hardly gave them a passing glance, for which Brienne was grateful. She also noticed groups of Unsullied periodically roaming the streets. While the peasants gave them a healthy berth, no one seemed perturbed by the silent, marching men.

Brienne was almost unnerved by how quickly they made it to the Red Keep. She had to keep reminding herself that this was no longer the den of snakes that she had long heard about. She hoped this peace and quiet was a welcome reprieve for Jaime. 

As was typical with new arrivals, there was a spike in interest that immediately put Brienne on edge. She thought she heard snickering as she dismounted her horse. She headed towards the carriage but stopped short at Podrick already standing there, holding the door and his hand out for Sansa. It took everything Brienne had to hide her smile, so she busied herself with looking around at the Red Keep.

“Sansa!” They all turned to find Jon striding over with a tired smile. Were there not a crown on his head, one could mistake him for any of the knights walking the grounds. He enveloped Lady Sansa in a hug. “I apologize no one could meet you at the docks.”

“It’s quite alright, Your Grace,” Lady Sansa replied with a small and a short curtsy.

King Jon sighed in exasperation. “Not you too!”

“You are the king,” Lady Sansa replied.

“But you are my sister, first and foremost. Please, call me Jon. I’ve been looking forward to your visit! No Arya?”

“You know Arya,” Lady Sansa replied with a wry smile. “She and Bran send you their best wishes.”

“I’m sure they do,” Jon replied with dry sarcasm. Then he turned to Brienne and Podrick. “Lady Brienne, I hope you are faring well. Still keeping Podrick in order.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lady Brienne replied.

Again, Jon appeared exasperated by the honorific, but he held his tongue. “Well met, Podrick. Still not a knight yet?”

“No, Your Grace. Not yet,” Podrick replied with a hasty bow and a nervous smile. 

“Where’s Queen Daenerys?” Sansa asked.

“She’s resting at the moment. She’s been handling the preparations for the coronation ceremony while I hold court; it’s tiring work,” King Jon replied.

“Of course. I hope we see her soon,” Lady Sansa replied.

“You’ll see her this evening. It would be remiss of me not to invite my sister to dinner,” King Jon said. “I’ll have servants get your things and move them to your rooms. You’ll be in the Maidenvault.”

“I would dearly like to freshen up. Come, Lady Brienne, Podrick,” Lady Sansa said and they dutifully fell in step behind her.

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

Brienne was devoted to her duty but her mind kept wandering to Jaime. She wondered where he was. Did he have a room in the sunlight or was he still kept in the cells, a prisoner? She didn’t think Lord Tyrion would stand to have his brother moved from one prison to the next, regardless of Jaime’s crimes. 

It was not hard to forget the way Queen Daenerys downplayed Jaime’s suffering back in Winterfell since he had been her most hated enemy. Brienne wondered if she should’ve spoken up, told the truth behind Jaime’s actions that day against her father. She had been afraid that her word would be ignored if not disregarded entirely. How would she know the truth after all? They looked at her as a friend now, but would that have changed if they had known how closely she had allied herself to Jaime? She couldn’t say. As far as she was aware, only Sansa knew that Brienne had been acting on Jaime’s behalf.

_ That is enough, _ she told herself harshly.  _ It’s pointless to regret past actions. We can only move forward from here. _ She hoped she got to see him soon.

As if summoned by her thoughts, there was a knock on her door. 

Brienne felt her heart leap and answered it.

“Ah, Lady Brienne, just the one I was hoping for. Good evening to you as well, Lady Sansa. I hope your journey was not too arduous,” Lord Tyrion said.

“Lord Tyrion, it was fine.” she replied, her mouth having gone dry and her heart felt like it was in her throat.

“Good evening, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said from the door that connected their two rooms. She had been preparing for her dinner with the king and queen.

“Lady Sansa, what a pleasure to see you as well. You look radiant as ever.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lady Sansa replied.

“Traveling by ship is not my favorite, but it has its uses.”

“Do you mind if I borrow Lady Brienne?”

“Not at all,” Lady Sansa said and grinned at Brienne.

“But, my lady—”

“Brienne, we both know you’re here for more than just me. Go on. Podrick can escort me to and from dinner.” 

“Thank you, my lady,” Brienne said and gave her a bow of gratitude. She followed Lord Tyrion out the door. It took her a moment to fall into a slower pace to stay by the dwarf’s side. 

He grinned up at her and said, “Thank you for coming. It’s a comfort to have someone else who cares about him here.”

“Of course, I look forward to seeing him. How has he been?” Brienne asked. 

In the next moment, the smile fell from Lord Tyrion’s face and she could see all the worry and doubt. He scratched the back of his head and heaved a heavy sigh. “Truth be told...I wasn’t entirely honest in my letter to you.”

Brienne’s gaze snapped to him and she had to keep her teeth from grinding. “How do you mean?”

“He’s not asked for you. He calls your name in his nightmares, but he hasn’t asked for you. He hasn’t asked for anyone. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure he remembers who I am,” Lord Tyrion said.

Brienne felt her heart in her throat and she had to swallow it back down. Her jaw worked as if to say something, but she couldn’t find the words. 

Lord Tyrion kept speaking though, “Our...sister put him through a hell that I cannot begin to fathom. We’ve made progress, but it’s slow. Incremental. Every so often I’ll see glimpses, flashes of the man who was my brother, but they’re gone almost as soon as I see them.” Lord Tyrion turned to her with sorrowful eyes. “He needs help, Lady Brienne. I know you will be important to his recovery.”

Brienne cast her eyes down as she watched her own feet shuffle across the grounds. It staggered her to know that things were even worse than she had been led to believe. A small part of her was annoyed with Lord Tyrion for concealing Jaime’s true condition from her, but would she have sooner preferred to despair over him from afar? She’d had hope in her heart up to this point and she would just have to retain that hope.

They started up the Tower of the Hand. When they reached the level of Lord Tyrion’s solar, she asked, “You’re keeping him in your quarters?”

“Oh no. I am under...strict orders that you should be brought here first. Kinoc has some things to explain.”

“Kinoc?” 

“Yes, he’s in charge of  _ his _ care.” At her confusion, Lord Tyrion said, “You’ll see.”

He knocked on his own door and then walked in. A large blond man who appeared to have been pacing the room stopped in his tracks and stood at attention; he was wearing Lannister red linens and dark trousers. A much slighter man with pitch dark hair and spectacles glanced up from the book he had open on his lap. He studied them for a moment too long before he set his quill down and closed the book he’d been writing into. He folded his arms into the folds of the robe that indicated he was a maester of some sort.

“Lady Brienne, I presume?” The maester asked.

“Yes.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I am acolyte Kinoc of the Citadel. If Lord Tyrion hasn’t told you, I am managing Lord Jaime’s recovery,” Kinoc said and gave a short bow.

Brienne blinked in surprise that an acolyte would be in charge, but she nodded and said, “I see. I thank you for your attention to him.”

“Hmm.” Again, Kinoc studied her with a pleasantly curious expression that made her feel self-conscious until he finally turned from her and said, “I’ve asked you all here today to ensure that everyone knows what we’re doing and why. Lady Brienne, can we count on you to assist with Jaime’s recovery?”

“Lord Jaime,” Lord Tyrion insisted.

“Lord Jaime’s recovery,” Kinoc said, giving Tyrion an irritated flick of his eyes. 

“Yes, of course,” Brienne said.

“Glad to hear it. Lady Brienne, this is Commandant Cullen. He’s the leader of the Lannister army and has spent his free time also caring for Lord Jaime.”

“My lady,” the man said with an awkward bow. His eyes too seemed to linger, but when he realized what he was doing, he immediately turned his eyes to the ground.

Brienne felt heat rising in her face at all of the untoward attention, so she turned to focus on Kinoc.

The acolyte said, “Lady Brienne, since you have been traveling to get here, allow me to fill you in on what has happened. Lord Jaime was rescued by Commandant Cullen and Lord Tyrion about six weeks ago. He was in shocking condition: emaciated, parasites living in his hair, pained by the light, and not lucid at all. Six weeks later, he is gaining weight at a healthy pace, parasite-free, and is no longer pained by the light but he hates being in darkness. A light must be on in his room at all times. He also still lacks in lucidity. As he gains strength, he becomes more unpredictable and is prone to lashing out violently for reasons yet unknown. Since he refuses to speak, it is unclear what he knows and doesn’t know. It is presumed that he does not recognize Lord Tyrion or Commandant Cullen.”

Brienne felt herself waver at the list of issues and she had to reach out to grab at a bookshelf to keep herself standing. When she felt grounded, she said, “Refuses to speak? You said he spoke my name.”

“He only speaks when he’s asleep. Barely full sentences. I have the list—”

“Jaime says that he has to stay alive for you,” Tyrion said.

She barely noticed the scowl Kinoc sent Tyrion. Her mind flipped back to all of those years ago when she whispered fiercely into Jaime’s ear to stay alive as he sat limply on the back of that horse. She remembered his defeat, his listlessness, and the way the pain of the removal and his infected stump had overwhelmed him and nearly burned his mind to a cinder. She’d thought it impossible that he’d listened to her after all and yet this seemed to be the proof. He had clung to her words after even being forgotten and tortured in the darkest cell in Westeros. She felt her senses overwhelming her.

“Perhaps you should sit,” Kinoc said. He gestured and Commandant Cullen guided her to a chair. 

When she felt grounded once more, Tyrion appeared shame-faced. Kinoc had a touch of concern in his eyes but he was looking at her with a critical expression. Commandant Cullen kept his eyes to the ground. 

“I understand this is...difficult,” Kinoc said. “This has not been easy on any of us and hearing even an abridged version of Lord Jaime’s suffering can crush the bravest at heart.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Brienne said weakly.

“Are you sure you want me to continue?”

“I do. I want to help him,” she said with more eagerness than she felt. Nausea filled her stomach, but she closed her eyes against it and breathed in deeply. “Keep going.”

“Well, the news does comparatively improve. Thanks to my friend, Aurus, we had the idea to introduce an animal as a pet to him. In this case, we got him a cat. He does appear to appreciate its presence. It’s had a noticeable calming effect. His behavior is less unpredictable and he sleeps better at night when the cat is around. It hasn’t led him to think he’s responsible for the cat like I’ve seen in some cases. I hope that will come with time. Based on the observations with the cat, it seems clear that not all is lost. He’s in there, somewhere. All I can think of is that he’s like a turtle hiding in his shell. It’s a protective measure against the kind of pain and suffering that was inflicted upon him.”

Brienne looked up at him.  _ He’s hiding. Gone away inside, _ she thought. “So...how do you get him out?”

Kinoc gave a slow shake of his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Time. Space. Potentially untested methods. We cannot rush this. The mind can be a delicate thing and it has to be handled with the utmost care. And eventually, hopefully, he will come out of his shell and rejoin us.”

“But you’re not certain?” Brienne said, furrowing her brow in frustration.

“There is very little that is certain when it comes to something as complicated as the mind, my lady. The Citadel has done little more than skim rocks off the surface of a still lake for thousands of years. I decided to plumb its depths.”

She rubbed her forehead as she tried to grasp everything that she had been told and despite the help Jaime was receiving, it boiled down to the fact that what they were attempting was unlikely to bear fruit. Jaime’s body was alive and his spirit was alive, but she might still never interact with him whole again. She could feel the beginnings of an ache in both her heart and her head.  _ If anyone can come out of this, Jaime can, _ she thought with reassurance and she slowly nodded to herself.

When she glanced up to speak with them, she found them all watching her with some level of trepidation. “Will I be able to see him?”

“Certainly, my lady. I can take you now if you would like,” Kinoc said.

“Please,” Brienne replied. 

He led the way down the stairs. As they walked, Brienne tried to brace herself. She had seen Jaime weak and emaciated after his hand had been removed. It was only by her presence that she had been able to stop him from drowning when he had fainted in the heated baths at Harrenhal. She had seen him at his worst before. She could manage it again.

Kinoc stopped at a door. He turned to her and said, “I ask that you please wait here until I summon you into the room. It’s small and Jaime does not like a crowd. When you do come in, move slowly. Talk to him with a quiet voice. Try to keep low to the ground. He doesn’t like people being above him. Do you understand?”

Again, she blinked and then nodded. It confounded her that she had to adhere to such a strict set of rules. The Jaime she remembered would have scoffed at such overly cautious measures. Even after his hand had been freshly removed, she’d still seen that spark of leonine strength that he had been born and bred with.

She pushed away her thoughts as she heard voices inside and wondered for a moment if Jaime had suddenly decided to start speaking, but then a broad young man with his hair pulled into a ponytail stepped out. “My lady,” he said by way of greeting and then stepped out of the way.

Brienne stared at him curiously for a moment, but then Kinoc’s voice said, “My lady, you may enter.”

Through the doorway, Brienne could see that Kinoc had taken a chair by the bedside, his face illuminated by a single candle flame, but she could not yet see Jaime. After taking a few deep breaths, she stepped up to the door, taking care to move slowly as Kinoc advised. Once again, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she willed herself to keep her hands at her side. 

She saw a man curled up on the bed and her breath left her as if she had been punched in the gut. A peach fuzz of hair was all that was left on his head. Though she saw a fire in his eyes, she could not recognize it as the fire of Jaime Lannister. His spirit always had a sardonic amusement to it like nothing could get him down. All of the strength he had originally gotten back was gone and his limbs were bony with sagging skin where muscle had been. She didn’t see any recognition in his eyes.

Brienne opened her mouth and found the words difficult to find. After a moment of breathing, she said, “Jaime, it’s me. It’s Brienne.”

Jaime’s eyes suddenly widened and for a moment Brienne’s heart soared, but just as quickly he shrank back into the far corner of his bed and hid his face behind his bony arms, trembling visibly. His move had startled a dark shape at the end of the bed that yowled in surprise and arched its back and then started to settle. 

“Jaime, please,” Brienne whispered.

“I think you should go now, my lady,” Kinoc said. He then turned to Jaime and said, “It’s alright Jaime. She’s not going to hurt you. You’re safe. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Brienne backed out of the room, feeling the tears well up into her eyes. She walked right past the other maester standing just outside, not hearing his words. She hadn’t recognized Jaime at all, even though he had directed that same glare at her just months prior in the Dragon Pit. Even in the midst of fever from the infection in his stump, his words had been barbed and wry. It was only now that she could admire how well he had weathered the storm of losing his sword hand.

But this...it appeared that Cersei had broken him down just as she had wanted to. Brienne knew better than most that loving another left one vulnerable and exposed. Cersei had exploited those vulnerabilities in Jaime and had left him a husk of his former self. Jaime was now afraid of even her!

_ Father, Warrior, Maid _ — _ whomever! _ — _ I ask that you guide Jaime, guide his spirit back to where his body is. He needs your help. Please, save him, _ she pleaded silently to the Seven as she looked skyward into the orange and red colors that stained the sky in the setting sun. When she was met with silence, she continued back to her quarters with her shoulders slumped and her heart feeling heavy with grief.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter is coming a lot later than I ever intended. Fear not, I haven't forgotten this story. Thank you all so much for your patience! I greatly appreciate you all reading, commenting, subscribing, and giving Kudos to this work. Your comments are a balm in this tense situation.

**Chapter 19**

“Thank you, my lady, for being willing to meet with me,” Acolyte Kinoc said to her with a smile.

“It was my pleasure,” Brienne replied dully.

They were seated in a small balcony hidden away from the main foot traffic. Despite the fact that it was supposed to be winter, a warm ocean breeze ruffled their hair and the sky was a dazzling blue. It was a perfect spring day in sharp contrast to her own stormy mood.  _ Jaime should be able to enjoy this, _ she thought gloomily.

It had only been the night before when Brienne saw him for the first time in half a year or more and he had cowered in terror. Not even when he’d been broken and feverish, had she ever seen him so afraid. She didn’t think Jaime knew what fear was.  _ No, that’s a lie. Dragon fire. He’s afraid of that. _ It had been a shock to her that a knight as callous and as bold as Ser Jaime Lannister could know fear and even show it. It was another chink in the ideal she carried of a knight. Being afraid didn’t make one unworthy to be a knight. It was what someone did with that fear that made them true knights. It was one of many lessons that Jaime had taught her.

Kinoc’s smile turned sympathetic. “I know what happened last night is difficult to bear—”

“Not as difficult as it is for Jaime,” Brienne interrupted and had to look away.

He was silent for a moment and said, “Don’t underestimate the pain this has caused you. You may not have suffered the way he did, but you still care about him. You hurt because he’s hurt. It’s a wonderful empathetic quality, but it can give you whiplash, so to speak. Do try to take care of yourself. I will always be here if you need an ear.”

Brienne blinked at him in confusion. She could think of few things worse than spilling all of her troubles and doubts to a complete stranger. From a young age, she had learned to bottle her emotions. She couldn’t be perceived as tough if she blubbered about every trouble or bully of which she had many. She could only fight, but...there was no one left to fight. The Army of the Dead had been fended off and Queen Cersei had been uprooted from the throne. If there had been any fighting, it seemed to have ceased immediately. The Seven Kingdoms were weakened, hurt, and exhausted from the strife and war. They were ready to move on.

It felt like she was watching the kingdoms move on and grow without her. She was still just a warrior woman who carried around a sword. And though she had made it into songs and gained the respect of the people of the North, it felt like a hollow accomplishment. Even Podrick who had seemed so hopeless when Jaime first gave him to her was striking out and finding a new love and a new life with Lady Sansa. But Brienne had no one. When she did return to Tarth, it would be as a hero, but she was just as alone as she ever was and Tarth needed an heir from her to survive.

  
  


Even when Jaime wasn’t hurting, she hadn’t wanted to dwell too long on her feelings for him. Even without a hand, he was the venerable and caustic Ser Jaime the Kingslayer. She was merely Brienne of Tarth, a woman trying to find her place among men. With his sister being the first and foremost love in his life, she wouldn’t even try to match up to Cersei. If she had fought for him, would this have happened?

Kinoc was quiet as he waited for her and finally she raised her eyes again and said, “What is it that you wanted?”

“The way Lord Tyrion tells it, you’re the one who knows Lord Jaime Lannister the best. I thought—”

“No, I can’t know him the best. I’ve only known him for a few years,” Brienne replied, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

She watched Kinoc close his eyes in what she assumed was irritation, but when he opened them, his face was as pleasant as ever. “Lord Tyrion said that Lord Jaime has changed quite a bit from before the war. You escorted him through enemy territory back to King’s Landing. You were there when he suffered one of the most traumatic experiences of his life. I’d appreciate it if you could shed some light on that.”

Brienne considered him and said, “Just because Ser Jaime cannot speak does not mean you can necessarily pry his secrets from me. What do you hope to achieve from this?”

Again, Kinoc closed his eyes and then he said, “I think understanding Lord Jaime will help me to make new approaches to bringing him back. I have no idea what secrets he is trying to hide. Whatever they are, you don’t have to tell me.”

She hesitated for just a moment and said, “I want Ser Jaime to heal. I’ll tell you as much as I can. Where would you like me to start?”

Kinoc’s face lit up. He opened his book to a blank page and readied his quill. “Lord Tyrion told me that Lord Lannister was a captive of King Robb Stark for at least a year. Are you familiar with his captivity there?”

“No,” Brienne replied. “The first time I saw him was when Lady Catelyn set him free and gave him to me. He had been chained up even in his cell, forced to sit in his own filth. He had not seen a bath or had his hair cut in all of that time. He was dirty and smelly.”

“Was there much light in this cell?” Kinoc asked.

“No,” Brienne whispered and shuddered. “I think they kept a torch lit outside of his cell.” She was surprised at the speed with which Kinoc took notes, though she could tell he was using a shorthand.

“That’s interesting,” he muttered.

“How so?”

Once Kinoc was done writing, he looked at her and said, “If he’s been in lengthy captivity hidden away in the dark, that suggests that he might have developed some kind of technique for handling the darkness. Your mind can become...unhinged if you’re deprived of light for too long.”

Brienne felt her mouth go dry and her heart speed up. If anyone had the grit to hang on, it was Jaime Lannister. Maybe there was hope after all.

“Please, continue,” Kinoc said.

She explained their journey through the woods and across the countryside. How they were chased by Robb Stark's men and how Jaime was nearly as much of an obstacle as them. She told him about the fight on the bridge and how she nearly drowned him in her anger and then Roose Bolton’s men took them captive.

Brienne felt numb and detached as she recounted everything in a rote voice. She thought she could see concern growing in Kinoc’s eyes, but it seemed he didn’t dare interrupt her. “They were going to rape me,” she whispered. “Ser Jaime told me that when they raped me, I should go away inside.”

That caught Kinoc’s attention and he cocked his head at her. “Go away inside? Did he explain himself?”

“He said that in times of great peril. One should...detach yourself. It will keep you from feeling the pain, the assault. I didn’t fully understand what he meant. I’ve never had to ‘go away inside,’” she explained. Noting the way his writing became frantic.

“Okay, go on,” he said.

“The men hauled me away from the campfire. There were five of them. I tried fighting them off. I was screaming, biting, kicking, but they were tearing at my clothes. I couldn’t fight them off.” Brienne ignored the alarm in Kinoc’s face.

“Wait, maybe—”

But she barreled on ahead. “I could hear Ser Jaime calling out. He was telling them to stop. I didn’t hear anything else he said, but they pulled me back to the camp and let me be. They pulled him away. They started punching him, shoving him. He tried to crawl away. That’s when they chopped off his hand.”

“Stop.”

Brienne gasped as she came to a halt and looked up at him dazed. She grimaced and unclenched her fists that had tangled in the fabric of her trousers. 

“I’m...very sorry. I shouldn’t—You don’t need to keep talking about that. Do you still want to continue?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. This is for Ser Jaime,” Brienne replied. In her mind’s eye, she could still hear his unrelenting screams after his hand had been removed. She had never thought anyone could sound so wounded. He sounded like a horse in its death throes. She remembered his screaming seemed to go on for hours and had only gotten louder when they cauterized the wound. They threw him down next to her. Jaime’s screams had finally given away to sobs and whimpers. She had whispered soothing words into his ear, but his sobs did not die out for hours

“Don’t think about Jaime. Think about yourself,” Kinoc’s words cut through her and she was brought back to the balcony overlooking the sea. She gasped for air as if she had just run the tourney field in full plate armor. She felt a rubbing sensation and looked down to find he had placed his hand on hers and was rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. She stared at it and he stopped, taking his hand away. “I will understand if you don’t want to continue. You have been very helpful. I have enough he—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “What’s done is done.”

He took his hand back and said, “Very well. He grabbed the quill again and held it poised over the page. “I’m ready.”

“I took care of him in those days after. They took his severed hand and hung it around his neck with a leather cord. He was delirious with pain and rot eventually set in. He was...listless. I kept asking him what he was doing and he said, ‘Dying.’ I told him to not be so craven. He said, ‘What would you have me do?’ I told him to live and get his revenge,” Brienne said. She had thought about mentioning the extended torture he endured with drinking horse piss and the sort but didn’t see how that would help Kinoc. His eyebrows were already nearly disappearing into his hair and his expression was a mixture of bleak and alarmed. But he made no further comment.

“We made it to Harrenhal. His wound was properly dressed by Qyburn. That was the first time we had a bath since we began our journey. I’m sure it was Lord Jaime’s first bath in years. The cad insisted on sharing a tub with me. He did ask me to pull him out so that he wouldn’t drown in the bathtub.” Kinoc’s alarm had been replaced by a keen curiosity that made Brienne shift uncomfortably. “We...talked. Ser Jaime fainted. I rushed to grab him. I distinctly remember asking for help for the Kingslayer. He said ‘Jaime. My name’s Jaime.’”

Kinoc seemed aware that she had glossed over something, but he made no comment. However, his head had snapped up at her last sentence and he cocked his head again. “Well, maybe this will be evidence enough for Lord Tyrion to allow me to call him Jaime. His name has significance to him.”

“He...hates being called Kingslayer,” Brienne said and swallowed. “Everyone called him that. Even me. Only his family called him otherwise.”

“The loss of his sense of self is a sore spot,” Kinoc muttered. “The ‘Kingslayer’ is a rather flat image. It doesn’t make up who he is—it’s only a part of him—but he has been defined by that name since the deed. He doesn’t like being defined by that.”

Brienne blinked at him. “Y-yes, that is it.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Lord Bolton said he was willing to escort Ser Jaime the rest of the way to King’s Landing. I was not included in that. The day Ser Jaime’s escort left, I was tossed into a pit to fight a bear with a wooden sword. I was minutes from death when Jaime just jumped down into the pit, with no weapons or anything,” Brienne said with an awed shake of her head. “His reasoning was that he was too valuable to die, so Bolton’s men would have to kill the bear to save us both. It worked, I’ll give him that. We both went back to King’s Landing. He armed and armored me to allow me to fill both of our oaths to Lady Catelyn. I have yet to repay this debt.”

Kinoc was back to studying her with narrowed eyes. “Has he ever brought up this debt?”

“No,” Brienne admitted, shuffling her feet. “But then we’ve barely spoken since he sent me on my way.” She thought she saw amusement on his face much to her annoyance.

“And that is the entire recount?”

“Yes,” Brienne replied.

Kinoc carefully set the book aside and set the ink well on the book to keep it open so it would dry. “This has been very helpful, my lady. I thank you for your time! I am sorry that the memories this dredged up were less than pleasant.”

“Of course,” Brienne said, the saliva feeling thick in her throat. “As I mentioned, I owe Ser Jaime a debt. This is the least I can do to help repay it. Do you think this will help?”

“Absolutely,” Kinoc replied. “Whether it will get him all the way back to us, I don’t know. But if your recount is anything, it shows he is a fighter. He has grit. He’s been in similar situations before and came out relatively unscathed. His most recent imprisonment was uniquely...barbarous, but not all is lost. There is hope, my lady.” 

She warmed at his smile, but she struggled to return it. “I hope so.”

“I know your first meeting was less than what you hoped for, but I found it very intriguing and it suggested promising things.” 

“How so?” Brienne asked. She wanted so much in her heart to believe, but she tempered that hope. If she had learned anything in her life, it was that hope was not a luxury afforded to her. She could only expect the worst.

“I’ve been working with Jaime for about five weeks now. While he has been closed, he’s also been markedly aggressive and unafraid. He had never cowered before me or anyone else that had been in that room before. His first instinct is to intimidate, a bit like a territorial cat. The fact that he showed fear yesterday is an interesting development. It appears he recognized you, to some extent.”

“But...I would never hurt him,” Brienne said glumly. 

“Maybe he didn’t recognize you specifically, but you took a form that made him afraid. Perhaps it was his sister?”

Brienne balked. “I look nothing like Cersei.”

“You’re blonde. That sometimes is all that is necessary. Or maybe he actually did recognize you as you are and that made him afraid. I don’t know and I won’t know unless Jaime is able to tell me one day.”

Brienne kneaded her forehead as she felt a headache blooming in the corner of her skull from trying to understand. “How do you know all of this?”

“From my observations of patients before him. None of them have been quite as extreme of a case. Everyone acts differently to trauma, but in the broader strokes, there are patterns that emerge,” Kinoc said with an eager smile. His gestures became grander and a feverish light had entered his eyes. “Jaime is especially interesting since he is the first noble I have had the opportunity to treat. Most of my patients are folk living within Old Town, merchants, prostitutes, maids, and so on. Most of them are worn, downtrodden but resilient from their usually more difficult lives. While Lord Jaime certainly has not had an easy life, his upbringing gives him advantages that smallfolk don’t have. Noblemen bear themselves in ways that smallfolk do not. I cannot make any conclusions, but this behavior seems to bear out a difference in how Jaime bears trauma compared to smallfolk.”

She blinked at him again and scratched her head.

Kinoc deflated. “I am boring you. I apologize.”

“I just...don’t understand.”

“That’s...that’s fine. This is a practice that has not been well understood, even by the Citadel. I have only started brushing away the surface. Even full Maesters will consider my findings...preposterous.” Kinoc gave her an apologetic smile. “I appreciate you trying to understand. I have a known weakness for rambling. Thank you, again, for your help, Lady Brienne.” He gave her a short bow and strode out with a spring in his step.

Brienne followed his movement and relaxed at his departure. She did not understand what he was doing. It seemed he was studying behavior, but she did not fathom how he was able to do that. People were an enigma to her and up until she met Lady Sansa, she assumed anyone she spoke with was thinking unkind thoughts and preparing to tear her down. The only consistent behavior she recognized was in people’s utter loathing of her. While there were far more friendly faces here in King’s Landing now than in years past, she still saw sneers and people hiding their laughter behind their hands as she passed. 

The least she could say was that in the little time she’d spoken with Kinoc, he was enthusiastic about his work. The only full maesters she had ever seen—even Qyburn—were old and craggy, doddering. While they were wise and were able to hide their judgment better than most, they were still prejudiced against her. She would swear that the Citadel must teach their maesters all the same disapproving frown every single one had given her.

Compared to that, Kinoc’s youthful energy was startling. He was obviously still a novice and she knew that maesters spent decades learning their craft, but they had all seemed like gnarled trees given a voice. She prayed that Kinoc’s current level of training and knowledge was up to the task of bringing Jaime back.

With a tired sigh, Brienne finally got to her feet and started out towards her quarters. She was to have lunch with Lady Sansa and guard her for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps it would be enough to keep her from pondering whether she would ever meet the Jaime that she fondly remembered. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! Thank you, again, for your devotion to this piece. Your comments have been truly amazing and I appreciate every Kudos and bookmark as well. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 20**

At Kinoc’s direction, Brienne continued visiting Jaime. Since her first encounter with him, she’d been invited two other times over the course of a week. She was forced to sit in a chair by the door. Kinoc still kept his chair by Jaime’s bed and appeared to act as a negotiator between the two. Although Jaime no longer hid his face from Brienne, he still sat in the far corner of his room and he flinched at her every movement. Apart from the fear, his face was closed to her and she could not glean any information about what his thoughts would be. It was an alien feeling, sitting with a Jaime who refused to speak when he hadn’t been able to stop speaking when she was escorting him.

It was enough to make Brienne feel gloom, but Kinoc insisted to her that she not show her disappointment or sadness. He insisted that she not be slumped in her chair and that she held her head high and had, at a minimum, a pleasantly neutral expression. Kinoc kept up a running conversation, filling in the gaps of silence between the two. He would ask Brienne innocuous questions about how she came to be in King’s Landing and what she had been doing before she had arrived in King’s Landing. She spoke at length about her time in Winterfell. 

The two of them became at odds in regards to the details about the War of the Long Night. Kinoc considered such an event farfetched, but the numerous people who spoke of it, the stories that now circulated through the kingdom, and the fact that Queen Daenerys’ own dragons had been pivotal in turning the war meant that Kinoc reluctantly agreed that there must be some truth to it, but he was clearly still uncomfortable with the idea. Brienne didn’t ask him what bothered him so, but he cautioned that she try to keep her tone light. 

“We have surmised that he picks up on emotions quite well. He gets satisfaction from our fear when he is aggressive. We don’t yet know what would happen if he picked up on your sadness from the situation, but his situation is, well, sad enough. The idea is to keep him from burying himself in another hole. Poetically speaking,” Kinoc had replied to her.

They were trying to refamiliarize Jaime with her again in the hopes that it would jog something in his head and he’d come to the realization about her presence, but she hadn’t seen any improvements. Kinoc told her that these sorts of wounds ran deep and would take time to recover. She was beginning to feel frustration at his vague answers when asked specifics; that was something that she and Lord Tyrion shared. 

During these visits, Kinoc went into greater detail about his studies, what he had observed in his time at the Citadel, and what he expected for Jaime’s recovery. He still had an annoying habit of speaking in terms she didn’t understand and she could see he was struggling to get his knowledge across. She was very much under the impression that he was not used to speaking to anyone who wasn’t a maester about his work. 

While she felt good about the more familiar ground that they were coming to, she was met, again, with frustration at the lack of an expectation of recovery. Kinoc admitted that he was unsure if he could ever bring Jaime back to a point that either she or Lord Tyrion could recognize him. The thought kept Brienne at a consistently glum level and stray thoughts that it would’ve been kinder for Jaime to die were becoming louder whenever she thought of the situation. She did her best to banish the thoughts, but with no evidence of improvement, she was beginning to doubt that Jaime would ever return.

Brienne turned her thoughts to what was happening around her. The last few nobles were arriving and they were mere days away from the coronation of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. The city had a celebratory air that rivaled the atmosphere for King Joffrey’s wedding. She hadn’t stuck around long after the boy’s death, but she could only imagine how oppressive living in the city became with Queen Cersei overseeing it.

King Jon closed out court for that day and all of the nobility were filing out of the throne room. Sansa made no secret of her preference for Podrick as Brienne noticed she clutched at his hand rather tightly. Being back in King’s Landing had brought all of Lady Sansa’s fears and horrible memories to the surface. Brienne had heard her screams in the night and she’d gone to remind Sansa that she was no longer a little girl to be tormented by Cersei or Joffrey, that she had protection now. Sansa hadn’t said anything, but Brienne was under the impression that Joffrey had habitually humiliated Sansa at court, which made the experience all the worse for her.

Sansa walked at such a brisk pace that it actually matched Brienne’s natural stride for once. She imagined that they were to retire to their rooms until the evening meal with King Jon and Queen Daenerys. If they were to stay in their apartments, Brienne was going to beg her leave to train with the Unsullied. She hadn’t had much opportunity even before the Long Night to test herself against their skill since they had arrived only just in time and she looked forward to the test.

“Brienne?”

The breath left her chest and she felt her back go up. The voice that called to her was from deep within her mind that she would never forget. Her eyes widened as she turned. A tall man with a long gray beard and wavy gray hair was looking at her with a kindly smile. He wore a robe of deep blue decorated with crescent moons and the fringes of it were a familiar salmon pink. A giant sun was emblazoned on his chest. 

“Is that...your father?” Sansa asked from by her side.

Brienne opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t find the words. She shakily nodded her head and began walking over, heedless of the people between them as she brushed past them. Tears welled up into her eyes as she still had to look up to meet his. The straw blond streaks that had run through his beard had now turned fully gray. He put a hand to her cheek and said softly, in a low deep voice, “My child.”

With that, she fell into him and swept him up in a hearty hug. He smelled just as she remembered, of sea salt and the spicy odor of his pipe. 

“Father,” she whispered back. “I have missed you.” 

“And I you. I was beginning to wonder if our paths would ever cross again.”

Brienne felt her breath hitch and she grimaced. “Always, father. I was always going to return.”

“But not send a letter?” He asked with a wry smile.

“There aren’t too many ravens in the wild,” she replied sheepishly and felt the creeping guilt at not having even thought to send him a letter from Winterfell. Her every waking minute there had been consumed with duties and even after the Long Night, ravens were scarce and in constant flight, to and fro. The maester didn’t really have any to spare, but she knew that if she had insisted, there would’ve been a way. The keep had calmed down considerably since the army had marched south against Queen Cersei, but even then so much of her time had been spent either at Sansa’s side, continuing the training of the greener soldiers, or pitching in to continue the reconstruction of Winterfell. But she knew, deep in her heart, that she had been afraid to send her father news.

Once Brienne had stepped back to give her father room, she noticed the presence at her side. Sansa was smiling up at her father and upon catching Brienne’s eye, she asked, “Would you introduce me to your father?”

“Of, uh, of course. Lady Sansa, this is my father, Selwyn. The Evenstar of Tarth. Father, this is Lady Sansa Stark.” 

Her father was so large that he had to bend considerably to place his fingers on Sansa’s hand, even at her height. “My Lady. Your family is one of such renown and honor. It pleases me she fights under your protection.”

“I should be thanking you, my Lord. Brienne has been my sworn shield for a year. There are none more formidable,” Sansa replied, continuing to beam up at her father.

Brienne felt the heat rise in her face and she cast her eyes down, noticing that her boots were worn and scuffed. She had done little to care for them since they had left Winterfell.

Her father chuckled. “You have grown so much and yet still shy. I am so proud of you, daughter. You never let anyone stand in your way, least of all me, and you are treated now as a knight. I can think of no higher praise.” He puffed up and his blue eyes crinkled with a large smile beneath his gray beard.

“Brienne, you are dismissed for the rest of the day. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Selwyn, the Evenstar of Tarth. I hope we will be able to continue this conversation soon. Come along, Pod.”

Just like that Pod began trailing after Sansa like a puppy following its master. Brienne couldn’t keep the chuckle in as she watched them go.

“Come to my room. I shall have tea and biscuits served. I know you favored those. I want to hear all about your adventures,” her father said and began leading the way.

Brienne felt the blood rise in her cheeks again. Few things made her feel like a child more than snacking on tea and biscuits with her father as if they had never been parted. She nodded graciously at the Tarth guards who were stationed at the door. They stiffened to attention and she was surprised that there were no rueful or mocking expressions on their faces like she had long known.

Her father called for tea and when they had finally settled, he said, “I heard whispers about the exploits of a ‘big woman’ on the mainland. I could only assume it was you, but I dismissed most of them. Since we hadn’t heard anything, I didn’t want my mind to linger on half-truths.”

Brienne frowned at her father as she prepared her tea. “What have you heard?”

“There’s no need to dwell on it, Brienne. You can tell me the truth of your adventures,” her father replied. His kindly smile appeared strained to her which made her all the more fretful.

“Please, Father. Tell me what you have heard. I will try to ease your fears,” Brienne replied.

Her father’s face grew grave and he had to take a sip of his tea to steady himself. “The first word we heard from the mainland was that you murdered King Renly Baratheon.” She heaved a great sigh. “Not that I believe it, of course,” he rushed to say. “I know you would never kill without cause. You were loyal to him. But hearing that my little girl was considered a kingslayer caused my heart to tremble. Not hearing from you after such rumors was painful. I kept faith that you were safe and following your heart as you are wont to do.”

“You need not fret about that, Father,” Brienne said. “You are correct. I did not murder King Renly. But Ser Loras would hear nothing and would have killed me. I was forced to flee with Lady Catelyn Stark. I pledged myself to her.”

Her father nodded and she saw the tension ease from his shoulders. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me how easily you fell in with the Starks. Such a fine family. Their devotion to honor is only equal to your own.”

She nodded and continued, “Lady Catelyn learned soon of the deaths of her sons in Winterfell; they were not dead, merely in hiding, but that was not known at the time. She freed Ser Jaime Lannister and bade me escort him to King’s Landing so that her daughters might be returned to her.”

His eyes grew wide and then his face darkened. “Hmm...that would explain the other rumor that reached us.”

“And that was…?” Brienne asked, but she could feel a pit of dread in her stomach. She had an inkling to what he was referring to.

“Men in the mainland gave you a new nickname: the Kingslayer’s Whore,” her father bit out and she saw his face redden. She swallowed. It was a rare occurrence to see her father so enraged.

“It’s a lie, Father. I remain a maid still,” she said and was surprised that her voice felt hollow at the proclamation. To have remained a maid for so long despite her trials should have been a badge of honor, but it felt hollow, a clear indication that no man could ever want her. Tormund rose to her mind, but his attention had made her feel unclean rather than loved. She was grateful she no longer had to worry about his presence.

The color drained from her father’s face and he blinked pleasantly. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “There are no words to express just how proud of you I am. This has been difficult for you. I can see it in your face, but fight for as long as you have and to be left unscathed in that manner. Truly remarkable.”

“Thank you, Father,” she replied.

“Please, tell me more. It’s been too long since I was allowed an adventure.”

So she launched into the story, but completely glossed over the trouble she encountered while attempting to escort Jaime to King’s Landing. She had just eased his fears and did not want to, yet again, recount her near-rape at the hands of Locke and his men. She started with their capture and release at Harrenhal. The only bit about Jaime she shed light on was when he jumped into the pit to save her from the grizzly bear. That seemed enough to perturb her father as she saw suspicion enter his eyes. 

Brienne mentioned being at King Joffrey’s wedding where he was poisoned. “Ser Jaime could not fulfill his oath to Lady Catelyn because she was murdered by the Freys. With the chaos from the death of the king and his brother on trial, he bestowed upon me this sword. It is a twin sword that was reforged out of the Valyrian Steel of the Stark’s ancestral sword,  _ Ice _ . It would be fitting to protect Lady Sansa and Lady Arya with it. He also gave me this armor,” she said, glancing down at herself, “and that squire, Podrick Payne you met. He bade me I find the Stark girls in his place and protect them, just as Lady Catelyn would have wanted.”

Her father was troubled once more. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I know you, Brienne. You are a woman of honor, which is why it is so easy to see how you could be associated with the Starks. But with Ser Jaime Lannister as well? You are a woman of integrity; these gestures would not mean nothing to you. You would think yourself in his debt. That’s where the Lannisters prefer their servants be.”

Brienne couldn’t keep the glare from her face. “It’s not like that, Father. He doesn’t consider it a debt.”

“The Lannisters have a reputation, little star. It’s not for nothing that the most famous phrase in association with them is ‘A Lannister always pays his debts.’ They also make sure those indebted to them pay.”

She surprised herself by scowling at her father. “You don’t know Ser Jaime. When I tried to give him back the sword after accomplishing my goal, he refused it. He said it was mine.”

This did not seem to sooth her father’s ire. “I know not what designs he had for you, but it must have benefited him in some way to have you indebted to him. I can see now how that nickname came about.”

Brienne’s temper flared and she leaped to her feet. “I did not sell myself for a sword. While I owe Ser Jaime a great deal, it is not for this. He saved my life, Father. Multiple times. He has never recalled such a debt to be repaid. I know the kingdom doesn’t see it, but I do: Ser Jaime has honor, Father. He has more honor than anyone will ever know.”

Her father stared up at her in puzzlement and confusion. As her temper receded, she realized she had been towering over her father and awkwardly returned to her seat. Her face felt hot from a mixture of her anger and embarrassment, so she nibbled on a biscuit and took a sip of tea.

“You feel for him.”

She froze and stared at her father, the tea cup halfway to her mouth.

He shook his head in a dazed manner. “The only time I ever saw you this impassioned was when you were running off to join Renly’s army. I know you loved him. It shined from your face. I was concerned he would break your heart, but you were too stubborn and earnest to be talked out of it. I let you go,” he said. “I knew you would find your place in the world. It cheers me to know that you did. But to fall for the Kingslayer? A man without honor…?”

“His name is Ser Jaime,” Brienne bit off, feeling her shoulders tense on his behalf. “I do not love him.”

“Oh, Brienne…” Her father shook his head. “I heard a rumor that he was here in King’s Landing.”

Just like that, the thought of Jaime’s bereft form came to mind and the biscuits turned to ash in her mouth.

“He is,” she whispered.

“You have been to see him?” 

Brienne felt like she was on trial and she had to run away to stare out the windows of her father’s quarters. “I have.”

She saw him frown tersely again. “Alone?” He asked.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t recognize anyone. He’s lost.”

Her father hesitated and said, “I had heard rumors. Queen Cersei made him her prisoner?”

Brienne drew her mouth into a firm line and there was anger in her eyes. “She made him prisoner when he dared to fulfill his oath and come north to fight the Army of the Dead.”

He grew quiet again as he watched her. “The Long Night? I disregarded the letters because I assumed someone was having a jape. It was real?”

She grimaced at hearing her own father had dismissed the authenticity of the threat.  _ I should’ve written, _ she thought. It was difficult to blame him. He hadn’t been there to see the reveal of the wight after all, even though the Stark’s integrity should have been enough. As it were, Tarth did not feel the consequences of that battle, so she could at least forgive him his suspicion. 

Nevertheless, she sat up straighter and held her head high. “I was assigned a group of men. They trained under me and I led them through the Long Night. It was my first full battle.”

Her father’s eyes grew wide and he stared at her in astonishment, before he smiled once more and puffed up his own chest. “Well done, Brienne. I truly cannot tell you enough how proud I am of you. I never thought I would hear the day a woman, let alone my own daughter, had earned the respect enough for men to follow her into battle. You’ve done it, little star.”

Despite the kind words, she deflated a little. “I still haven’t become a knight. But Ser Jaime taught me that being a knight was more about deeds than the title.”

Her father deflated with her. After a moment of silence, he said, “I’m not going to pretend I understand what has happened for you to hold Jaime Lannister in such high esteem. I cannot help but suspect ulterior motives for saving your life. The Lannisters have never done anything for anyone without expecting something in return. I don’t need to remind you what Jaime Lannister has done. He is not deserving of your concern.”

“I will decide that for myself,” she says, feeling a cold fury at her father. “He is much more than what you’ve heard. Whatever happens, I will always consider him a friend.”

“Brienne...I just don’t want you to get hurt. You love so much and so deeply. I’ve never forgotten what Ronnet Connington did to you. I would be angry about it were I not so relieved that the betrothal was broken. You deserve better, my little star. You deserve a man who appreciates who you are.”

_ Jaime does, _ Brienne thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. Jaime was gone and he was unlikely to return. While she had long resigned herself that her heart beat for him, she was under no delusions that he returned the feelings. She was staring at the lines of her skin on her knuckles when a large hand enveloped hers.

“If what you say is true about Jaime Lannister now, I am sorry he is not the man you knew anymore. You are grieving for him. It gets easier. I can only imagine that there must be good memories between you two for you to care for him so. Cherish those memories. You have time yet to grieve,” her father said.

“Thank you, Father,” she replied in a whisper, afraid that if her voice was any louder he would hear the break of emotion in her voice. She spent the rest of the day talking about the affairs on Tarth. Despite the many humorous tales her father relayed to her, nothing could seem to shift the hollow feeling that hovered over her heart. 

  
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It warms my heart to see all of your support. I know this fic has been one heck of a roller coaster, so I appreciate you stick with me through all the turns and the whiplash. I know it hasn't been easy, but I greatly appreciate your comments and Kudos and bookmarks. =)

**Chapter 21**

“Why a cat?”

“Pardon, my lady?” Kinoc asked. He was busy writing in his little book while Jaime gingerly pet the cat.

Brienne had continued to come back and observe Jaime, sitting with him and attempting to speak with him. Though she found she cut herself off repeatedly in Kinoc’s presence. He oversaw every action, but as Jaime continued to shrink away from her, he felt it was in Jaime’s best interest to not be unaccompanied while in her presence. Although Jaime no longer hid his eyes from her, he remained hunched and his eyes cast downward. 

With her father in the Red Keep, Brienne spent the majority of her dinners with him and would express her frustration about Jaime’s progress. Her father still had a hesitant look in his eyes, but he would smile and nod all the same. He had thankfully refrained from disparaging Jaime in her presence since their first reunion. Much like Kinoc, though, he always cautioned patience.

“It sounds like this young man has a good head on his shoulders. Trust him,” her father had said.

She could recognize good advice when she heard it and told herself to have faith. She would give Kinoc some credit that over the weeks, Jaime did appear to become more comfortable in both of their presence. The way she understood it, he had been angry with Kinoc at the very start, but now seemed not to mind him. If she had to guess, Kinoc had become as threatening to Jaime as an irritating fly. 

While she was still drawn about Jaime’s condition, that she saw changes even over the course of a few weeks filled her with hope. During that time, Brienne stopped surrendering to her confusion and tried to understand what Kinoc was telling her about his work and how he hoped it would help Jaime. He still struggled to tell her in words she could fully understand, but with the changes in Jaime, she felt she was beginning to understand the language and the craft Kinoc was attempting to impart on her. It made her wonder if other Maesters were just as eager to share the secrets of their craft as Kinoc. The Maesters she had been familiar with were rigid and stale. They had made no attempts to offer her any kind of knowledge. Did that enthusiasm bleed away with the ages? Would Kinoc become just as tight-lipped and superior as them? She couldn’t reconcile the two.

“It was Aurus’ idea. I was struggling to think of new techniques that would make Jai-er, Lord Jaime, more comfortable around us. He was more guarded and he could not find rest even in sleep. We’ve had many patients in the Citadel respond positively to animals. One man loved snakes, another kept birds…”

Brienne nodded, cocking her head in curiosity, but then she said, “Sure, but...why did you think this would be suitable for Jaime?”

Kinoc blinked at her and said, “It was worth trying.”

“I have never known Jaime to take a special interest in animals,” she replied.

She noticed Kinoc shift uncomfortably, but he simply shrugged and gave her a flat smile. “But you didn’t answer my question: why a cat?”

“Well, it’s an animal that practically minds itself. It just needs food and some affection, but it does everything else. With Lord Jaime as he is, we didn’t want anything that would be too strenuous. Maybe that will change once he’s built his muscles up, but I believe we should wait and see.” 

They watched the cat stretch, jump off the bed, and stride towards the door. Brienne opened the door a hair and it darted out. “You can’t make it stay? It’s barely here most of the time,” she said as she closed the door with an annoyed huff.

“You may take the cat out of the wild, but you can never take the wild out of the cat,” Kinoc replied sagely, but he was trying to smother his smile. “I would never meddle in the affairs of a cat. That way lies scratches.”

Brienne held back her sigh. Jaime was back to being curled up in the corner, eying her warily. She was still forced to sit by the door, but she could handle that. “So, what other things are you doing to try to bring Jaime back?”

Kinoc perked up. “I’m glad you asked, my lady. There have been successes with strong smells. We’re trying to figure out if there are any smells that Jaime might know and be able to associate with a comforting memory that could help revive him. For instance, one woman patient who was left in a sleeping state was revived by the smell of lavender because her mother used to grow lavender in her childhood home.”

Brienne couldn’t keep from shaking her head in astonishment. _ Smelling something that brings back memories? _She tried to think of any such memories and immediately remembered the pervasive smell of salt from the sea that defined her childhood. As she thought about it, she’d spent little time as a woman grown around the sea since she’d left Tarth and it felt like the point when she stopped being a child.

“I...think I understand what you mean,” she said, rubbing her chin.

“Yes, but we’re having trouble thinking of things. Jaime’s been around horses all of his life? Would horse sweat be appealing? The smell of the sea around Casterly Rock? Is it the same as in King’s Landing or would we need to journey there? Lord Tyrion tells me that their mother was a kind woman, but she died. But Tyrion has no memory of what perfumes she may have worn. Should we try a variety of perfumes? It’s hard to say,” Kinoc said with a shrug. 

“Anything else?”

“Well...there is less proof for this method and it sprung from smell being connected to memory. Would attempting to repeat a significant memory work in the same way as smells? Would it be a...reference point for the mind to start from? I do not know the answer to that question.” Kinoc replied and he drew his mouth into a troubled frown.

Brienne cast her eyes down. The first significant moment she could think of for Jaime was the loss of his hand. She shuddered to think what steps would need to be taken to come within a stone’s throw of repeating that moment. He was speaking again and she gave him her attention.

“—ve been taking Lord Jaime down to the servant’s communal baths late at night for his exercises. We give him a very light dose of dreamwine so that he won’t fight us. It seems to keep him mellow. The water soothes his bones but it also provides a suitable place for working his muscles and stretching them. I think if we continue with that every other night, he might be walking in a month or two.”

She widened her eyes. “You’ve been taking him to the baths?”

“Yes. They’re quite large and spacious. We block off the room so that the servants can’t interrupt us.”

_ The bath, _ she thought excitedly and recalled how Jaime had spilled his innermost secrets to her. Was that an important moment for him? She thought it had been. That was when she had stopped calling him Kingslayer.

“What is it?” Kinoc asked.

“When you take him down to the baths, I want to accompany you,” she replied.

Kinoc’s eyes widened. “Uhh...I-uh-I’m not so sure about that, my lady. That would, uh, not be proper.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “Jaime is my friend and I will go to any length to help him.”

“My lady, I do not want to be accused of impropriety.”

She clenched her fist in a show of force. “I am a woman grown and I am more than capable of handling myself.”

While Kinoc seemed unsettled by the threat, he raised an eyebrow in bewilderment. “Is there a particular reason why you want to accompany us to the baths?”

“A memory. You said you were thinking about reviving him with a memory. I have one. I was there and it took place in the baths.”

“You’re referring to the time in the baths where you prevented him from drowning?” He narrowed his eyes at her and drew his words out like a blade.

“Yes,” she said, but tightened her mouth into a troubled line.

His eyes focused to the floor as he seemed to rethink it and then he brought them up to her again. “I need to know what happened to make a judgment.”

Brienne gritted her teeth. “That’s a secret.”

Kinoc’s expression became severe. “Then no.”

She leaped to her feet. “This could help Jaime!”

“I don’t know that! It could equally harm him as much as help him. I would reconsider if you told me what the memory was about,” he replied and his face took on a stubborn placidity.

“You don’t need to know that. I’m certain it will help. I at least want to try,” she argued.

“No.” The word was final and he turned away from her.

Brienne huffed. She noticed Jaime had shrunk back down in the corner of his bed and she felt the guilt tugging at her for scaring him again. Pulling open the door, she strode out. With any luck, Pod was looking for a sparring partner.

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

“Lord Tyrion, I am happy to report that your brother continues to make progress. He appears to have...softened around me and Aurus. He is also becoming less...disturbed by Lady Brienne’s presence. Having a cat has had a calming effect. His exercises in the communal baths mean that he’s also making progress to getting his muscles back. There is still a lot of work ahead of us but we’re getting there,” Kinoc declared with an easy smile. 

Brienne, Kinoc, Aurus, Commandant Cullen, and Lord Tyrion were all gathered in the Hand’s solar for their weekly meeting about Lord Jaime’s progress. She stood by the door and glared at Kinoc. He had shut her down, but she hadn’t let go of her idea around recreating the bath scene and was intent on bringing it up to convince Lord Tyrion of its worth.

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Lord Tyrion replied though his expression remained irked and his spirits were clearly down. “I know you said this would take time, but I never imagined the progress would be this slow.”

“Patience is key, Lord Tyrion. This is not something to be rushed. The mind is a powerful and delicate thing. It should be handled like spun glass. I am pleased with his progress,” Kinoc said.

“But he could make more progress,” Brienne jumped in. The only one who did not turn immediately towards her was Kinoc. 

He sighed and said, “Please, my lady, I am not confident in this idea.”

Lord Tyrion perked up instantly. “What idea?”

“I want to recreate a memory,” Brienne said quickly as Kinoc closed his mouth and glared at her. “Acolyte Kinoc was telling me about the...techniques they were considering for attempting to revive Jaime. He said it had to be a significant moment. I have one. It could be done in the communal baths.”

Lord Tyrion appraised her for a moment and then turned a sharp eye towards Kinoc. “And why aren’t we doing this?”

“First, my lord, she is a woman asking to be in the baths with a naked man. I do not want any of us to be accused of impropriety. It is a risk to her honor.”

“I’m willing,” Brienne replied, drawing herself up. “I don’t care of the risks. I want to do this.”

Lord Tyrion gave her a quick nod and said, “Lady Brienne can handle herself.”

Kinoc gaped. “I’m sure you’re aware it’s not whether she can fight her way out. She’d be going into the baths with three men. Aurus and I have not taken our vows. We could be undone by the rumors as easily as she could be.”

“I’ll make the extra effort to secure the room with Unsullied at midnight and make sure no one else is around,” he replied. “Anything else?”

Even from where Brienne was standing, it was clear Kinoc was fuming. It took him a moment to center himself, but there was still anger in his voice when he said, “What she wants to test is a conjecture. We have no proof it would work. Furthermore, she refuses to disclose the memory to me. For all I know, it could harm him as much as heal him. Or it could do nothing. I do not make such decisions blindly.”

Lord Tyrion seemed to consider his words, and then he turned to her. “My lady, would you be willing to speak to the warm nature of this moment?”

“Mmmm…” Brienne hummed and furrowed her brow. “It was not a painful moment.”

“That doesn’t sound very warm to me,” Kinoc replied.

“No matter. I know Lady Brienne. She is a steadfast person of honor. I would trust her judgment. This is the most significant idea that has been proposed in some time. I want us to try _ something _ . You _ will _ do this...thing, Acolyte Kinoc. I will arrange for the Unsullied to keep it private tomorrow night at midnight.”

“My lord, I must insist. I am not comfortable subjecting Lord Jaime to that quite yet. Let us get a little further—”

“We are moving forward on this,” Tyrion said in warning, “with or without you.”

“Very well, my lord,” Kinoc replied and gave a small bow.

Brienne sighed in satisfaction, but she noticed that the other acolyte, Aurus, appeared troubled too. _ Am I doing the right thing? _ She thought with some unease. Both of the acolytes had proven their worth, as far as she was concerned, but this was an opportunity unlike any other. She had to try. _ I will pray tonight, Jaime. With the Mother’s blessing, you will be healed, _she hoped.

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

She knocked on the door to the communal baths. Kinoc opened the door a crack to peer out at her. She wondered for a moment if he would simply shut it in her face, but he opened it up wider. She could tell even in the dim light of the candles that he was still not happy. 

“He’s mellow, but the dreamwine is likely wearing off. We’ll give you two space, but Aurus will remain in the tub with you so that he can be there in a trice. I will be observing from the wall,” Kinoc said in a carefully neutral voice.

“It will be alright,” she said, trying to inject confidence in her voice, but it still sounded so small to her ears.

Kinoc gave her a sharp look. “If he gets worse, I will be blamed for it. I want him to be a success story just as much as you.”

_ For different reasons, _ she mused. Not for the first time, she wondered at the inner workings of the Citadel. If Kinoc ‘failed,’ would that reflect badly on his work as a whole? Would it be enough to dismiss him from the Citadel? She had difficulty believing the Citadel would be harsh enough to enact such measures. There was no denying the passion Kinoc had for his work. To lose it would be like her father ripping her sword out of her hand and forcing her to be a lady. If Brienne was being honest with herself, it was hard enough already to understand and accept what Kinoc was telling her, and if it failed, she would consider it bunk forevermore.

She glanced around and should not have been surprised at the damp dark stone that surrounded them. She felt like she was in a crypt more than a bathhouse. The tub was quite spacious, but she imagined it had to be for the servants’ convenience. Torch sconces were arranged every couple of feet; the two acolytes had also arranged for a host of candles so that they’d be able to see beyond their noses. A slit of a window appeared on one wall which she imagined let in just enough light to see by in the day. 

Acolyte Aurus was crouched by Jaime, gently moving his limbs one by one, standing in such a way that she couldn’t see Jaime. Kinoc had already retreated to his post by the wall where his book rested. 

Brienne threw back the hood she was wearing and considered her strategy. In a bid to protect her honor, she hoped the cloak would be enough to conceal her gender to any onlookers. For once, her ungainly height served its purpose of making her appear more masculine. Underneath the robe she wore a linen shirt and trousers. She shrugged off the cloak and toed off her boots, glancing down at the rest of herself before deciding to disrobe of everything. Heat rose into her face at her daring and she couldn’t help but notice that Kinoc had turned so he was staring steadfastly at the wall. She felt a pang and tried to squash it. _ He’s trying to protect your virtue, not because you’re ugly, _ she berated herself but the last vestiges of shame lingered on the edges of her mind. She quietly stepped into the tub and sank beneath the water, releasing a small sigh from its soothing warmth and the way it now hid her nakedness.

She kept low in the water and took a wide route so as not to surprise Jaime. Judging by the way his eyes widened and his breathing quickened, she didn’t think she’d pulled it off. Aurus glanced at her and gave her an encouraging nod before gliding away to the other side of the tub. Jaime stayed where he was, but she couldn’t decide if it was out of fear, the mellowing effects of the dreamwine or because he was too weak to do otherwise.

“Jaime,” she whispered as she approached him. 

He slightly shifted away, trying to pull back, but there was nowhere for him to go. Through the water she reached out and picked up his hand. He pulled away but she sought it out and held it in both of hers. She could feel him tense through his hand, but he didn’t try to pull away, however his eyes remained wide with alarm and he was still breathing heavily.

“Jaime, it’s okay. Do you remember who I am? It’s Brienne. Your...wench.” She kept her voice low, hoping that it would calm him and so the acolytes couldn’t hear her. After a time, she started rubbing her thumbs across the back of his hand in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Remember when we met for the first time beneath Riverrun? You were a Kingslayer to me,” she said. His eyes widened and she felt her heart speed up. _ Has he heard me? _

“You were a man without honor. But that night you pledged to get Lady Catelyn Stark’s daughters back to her. It was the start of our journey back to King’s Landing,” she continued. He had stopped trying to pull away and she hoped from the way he stared at her transfixed that it meant he was listening, that he could really hear her words.

Her lips quirked into a fond smile. “Even despite the oaths you made that night, you were intent on making the journey difficult. Because that’s who you are.” She distinctly recalled the ever mounting anger and frustration as he prattled into her ear with an endless stream of insults and noise. She had only ever found peace when he had finally fallen asleep at night. Even in rags and with his hair and beard full of filth, she recalled him seeming almost handsome, at least when she could see him in the moonlight.

“Even with your hands bound, you found a sword and challenged me. You always had spirit. I won’t forget when Locke’s men first found us, you put yourself between me and them. I know you were trying to protect me despite everything.”

“You never stopped trying to protect me. ‘Go away inside,’” Brienne whispered and she thought he actually stopped breathing as he stared at her. Feeling bold once more, she reached over to brush at his hair. He pulled his head away before she could reach his forehead. Trying not to show her disappointment, she allowed her hand to sink back beneath the water. Her other hand still held his and she felt it twitch beneath her fingers.

“You kept them from raping me. They cut off your hand.” Now she reached for his stump. His entire right arm was tense beneath her fingers. Brienne stared into his eyes for a moment before she planted a simple kiss over the stump and watched his reaction. He didn’t pull away but she let his stump go. It fell out of sight but his gaze remained fixed on her.

Brienne felt her heart pound in her chest. “We’re in the baths of Harrenhal. They brought you in to wash the filth and despite your fever, you chose yet again to insult me and at the same time asked me to pull you from the bath in case you fainted. We talked of honor. I kept saying you had none. Your impatience finally broke with me.” She moved closer so that they were breathing the same air. “You told me why you killed the Mad King. That he ordered King’s Landing destroyed, not caring that the people should die in green fire, in terror and agony. You prevented that.” 

She was afraid that Jaime really had stopped breathing. He was so still as he stared at her, but he seemed to come out of his trance long enough to blink before seemingly falling back into it.

“You fainted,” Brienne whispered, “and I caught you. I shouted, ‘Help! The Kingslayer.’”

She paused and then said, “And you said, ‘Jaime. My name is Jaime.’”

Jaime suddenly seemed to come to life as his breath shuddered in his chest. He blinked and she saw his eyes roll as he collapsed to the side. She was by his side in an instant and held him in her powerful arms. It struck her, then, that they had been in this exact position in Harrenhal. He had been almost as weak and diminished from his captivity in Robb Stark’s army. His breath wheezed in his chest and for a moment she feared he had swallowed too much water. 

Brienne felt her own breath catch in her throat. “Jaime, please,” she said in a wavering voice. 

His eyes fluttered like he was waking up from a long sleep. She waited with baited breath, swallowing back at the emotion that clawed at her throat.

“Brienne?” Jaime’s voice croaked in a sound so broken she almost hadn’t been sure it was him.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she worked to blink them back. “Jaime,” she replied. All other words failed her, but she held him tighter to her chest.

“Is this Harrenhal?” 

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you are all doing well. I apologize for this chapter taking such a long time with this chapter. The state of affairs is getting to me. I hope you are all staying safe and sane in these troubled times. Thank your for your continued support of this fic! It helps.
> 
> **For anyone concerned about the status of this story, please check my profile for the full plan.**

**Chapter 22**

“It does appear that Jai- _ ahem _ , Lord Jaime Lannister has been revived,” Kinoc said.

He, Aurus, and Brienne were standing in Tyrion’s solar well after midnight. Brienne would never forget the rush of emotions as Jaime looked at her without fear for the first time since she had arrived. The light of what she could only describe as awareness had returned to his eyes. He had been exhausted and she could feel his chest rise and fall with labored breath as she held him, but he had been unearthed. 

They had taken him back to his room. He could now actively make the effort to walk but he had been forced to throw his arm over Aurus’ shoulder to make the journey. Brienne thought his coordination would improve with rest. 

Tyrion had been less than pleased to be pulled out of bed, but his eyes lit up with excitement at Kinoc’s news. “He’s back? Truly?” He looked at Brienne.

She nodded eagerly. “He asked me if we were at Harrenhal.”

The dwarf looked stunned. “Why would he ask that?”

“It was...um...you see,” Brienne stammered.

“The memory that she was trying to invoke took place at Harrenhal. The technique I mentioned worked,” Kinoc said. “Praise be to the Seven.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows nearly rose into his hair. “You didn’t want to try it.”

“I didn’t want to try it without properly evaluating the situation,” Kinoc replied stiffly. The original animosity from earlier coming back and Brienne wanted to sigh.

“It seems Lady Brienne’s judgment was sufficient in this regard.”

“Lady Brienne picked a good memory. There is no doubt about that. However, it is clear that she did not fully understand the risks of subjecting Lord Jaime to that.”

She scoffed. “I know Jaime.”

Kinoc leveled a glare at her. “It really doesn’t matter how well you know him. You could not possibly know how he would react in the midst of his trauma. You could have burnt his mind to a husk. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. They become like the dead, even less alive than Lord Jaime was before tonight. Never seeing, never acknowledging. We continue to care for them in the hopes that they will come to the light. So far, few have.”

An unearthly silence filled the solar. Brienne swallowed and shuddered at the implication. It hadn’t seemed possible to make Jaime worse.*

“Well, that didn’t happen, so you can stop your fretting,” Tyrion said.

“With all due respect, my lord, I will not stop ‘fretting.’ While Lord Jaime is revived, he does not appear to have any memory of his captivity at the hands of your sister, Queen Cersei,” Kinoc said with a stubborn frown.

His declaration was followed with more silence. Tyrion blinked with the slowness that suggested exhaustion and said, “Hmm...that doesn’t sound so bad. Perhaps it’s best that he doesn’t remember it.” 

Kinoc appeared stunned. “I apologize, my lord, but that is ill-advised.”

Brienne as well was perturbed by the declaration. If Jaime didn’t remember Cersei’s tortuous treatment of him then he might yet still harbor feelings for her. While she was not one to speak ill of the dead, it was clear that Cersei was a monster. She would never forgive herself if Jaime continued to believe in the lie that Cersei loved him as much as he loved her.

“Everything that needed to return has returned,” Tyrion replied. “He is my brother again. Perhaps it is a blessing that those memories were struck from him.”

The young acolyte continued to stare in shock and then he guffawed. It seemed to have taken him by surprise, but then he could not keep the mirth from his face as it boiled up from within him.

Tyrion glare. “You mock me, acolyte?”

“Not at all, my lord,” Kinoc replied, but there was a bite of anger to his voice. “Truly, I do not. I merely marvel that you would prefer your brother with a few holes in his memory than him complete and healthy.”

Tyrion scowled even worse, his scar making his whole face contort. “I want my brother healthy more than anyone here.”

“So then, my lord, listen to me when I say that he is not well! Those memories? They’re still there. Locked away for now. Maybe if he’s...lucky, they’ll be locked away forever.” Kinoc’s face grew dark and he said, “If he’s not  _ lucky _ , then he will find them again before he is ready. And he will relive them. Without guidance, he may be stuck in that permanent hell.”

It was Tyrion’s turn to laugh. “It’s clear you don’t know my brother like you think you do. He survived Cersei’s torture. A few bad memories won’t bother him.”

“He just spent eight weeks hiding from those memories!” 

Brienne felt Aurus shift from nerves. She found herself chewing on her lip and stopping. Whatever facade Jaime wore was effective if his own brother could be fooled by it, but she knew that Jaime was far more vulnerable to such things than he often pretended to be. His recount to her of his killing the Mad King was evidence of that. It haunted him to this day.

“What do you think we should do now?” Brienne spoke up. Both of them had been so absorbed in glaring at the other that they looked at her like they’d forgotten she was in the room. 

Kinoc drew in a long breath and spoke in a more even tone, having reigned in his temper, “We have to be very careful. None of us should mention those holes. Not the events around it, not the people involved, nothing. If Lord Jaime asks about it, then you be truthful: ‘I cannot speak to you about those yet.’ Don’t bother hiding it from him; that will only make him more curious and eager to know.”

Tyrion snorted. “Won’t that pique his curiosity as well?”

“Yes, it will. I will speak to him myself and we will very slowly attempt to uncover the memories that he has hidden away from himself.”

“And, pray, how do you expect to keep the information from him that Queen Daenerys and King Jon are now the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms?” Tyrion said.

“Talk around it. I will bring it up to him.”

Tyrion’s face threw thunderous. “ _ You _ will bring it up to him? You have been cagey about how all of this...works. You talk around us, treat us like fools.”

“My lord, I would never presume to do your job for you. I ask that you leave my job to me.”

The dwarf slammed his hand on his desk. “We are all trying to help my brother in his recovery and you only seem to stand in his way! It appears you don’t want him to recover unless you get all the praise for it. How many ideas did you dismiss out of hand before I forced you?”

“I dismiss  _ nothing _ , my lord. Lady Brienne would not give me the appropriate context for the memory to make a judgment. You do not know any distinct smells that may have brought him back. Burning sage would have accomplished nothing. You even suggested leeches! Your brother is not as sick in the body as he is in the mind! This is...complicated. Every individual is unique. The best way to find a strategy to treat your brother is to study his peculiarities and take a slow tack to his recovery. Now, it’s late. We’re all tired. Let us return to our beds and get rest. It has been a long day. I will be awake first thing in the morning and I—”

“No!” Tyrion glared at him. “I have had enough of this. You have done your job—inadequately at that. Jaime is revived. He can walk, he can speak, and he remembers what’s important. That’s what matters! As far as I’m concerned, your service is done here. Maybe now an actual maester who’s forged his chain will serve my brother. You may leave.”

A stunned silence filled the room. Kinoc had opened his mouth to speak and now stared in furious shock. Brienne noticed his friend Aurus’ eyes grew wide in alarm, but he too remained silent.

“Wuh-wait, Tyrion, are you sure about this?” Brienne asked, taking an unsteady step forward.

Tyrion’s eyes softened as he turned to her. “You know my brother better than anyone. You’re the one who brought him back.  _ He _ ,” Tyrion made a dismissive gesture at Kinoc, “only slowed us down. If we had listened to him, Jaime would still be lost.”

“Excuse me—!” Kinoc began.

“What? No, I-I only suggested the memory because of Kinoc. It  _ was _ his idea,” Brienne said, stubbornly.

“You’re dismissed,” Tyrion said, looking at Kinoc. “I will see you all in the morning.”

The room was silent again. Kinoc drew himself up taller and his face was a picture of grim fury. “This is a mistake. It is inevitable that those memories will surface. He needs to be given the appropriate tools to handle them. How long was Queen Cersei living here? How long was he? He will see her ghost around every corner, you mark my words.”

Tyrion stared back equally haughty. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kinoc turned on his heel and marched out the door. He then sighed and fell back into his chair. “Now that that’s done…”

“If I may be so bold, that was a bad idea, my lord,” Aurus said.

Tyrion fixed his glare on him now. “I’ll be happy to dismiss you as well.”

But the acolyte didn’t flinch and said, “You still need both of us. I can help Lord Jaime recover his body, but we need Kinoc to help recover his mind. I’ll be the first to admit that Kinoc should have been more...careful, but he’s not wrong. This is far from over.”

**._The Lion in Winter_.**

Jaime sighed in relief as the gray light of dawn began creeping into the room. The single candle that was his only source of light otherwise had melted to the bottom. He had expected it to gutter any second and leave him in the dark. 

After the acolytes and Brienne had taken him to his bed, his exhaustion from the evening had carried him away. However, his dreams were dark. He could see nothing, but he could hear the sound of scrabbling clawed feet and the chittering of rats. There was something about the noise that set his teeth on edge. A combination of fear and fury gripped him. He wanted to scream but couldn’t. He jolted from the dream, gasping for air and his sweat instantly chilled in the cool night air. 

_ Fool. Coward, _ he berated himself.  _ They were just rats. _ Once he was awake, he expected the fear to drain away, but it seemed to morph into overwhelming despair. His stomach churned and he had to swallow to keep the bile from rising in his throat. Every stray sound he heard caused him to start. 

Jaime focused on the candle. He was unnerved at how eerily familiar it felt to be sitting alone in a room. He glanced at the door with increasing nervousness, unable to pinpoint the reason for it. Finally, he got up on shaky legs and staggered to the door. He turned the handle and found it locked. His heart started pounding despite the innocuous implication.

_ What in Seven Hells is wrong with me? _

He thought back to when he’d first awakened in the tub. Why was he only just coming to his senses then? What had happened between the Dragon Pit and then? How long had it been? He got the feeling it couldn’t have been days, but then how could he be missing months?

It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask after Cersei, but a sudden shudder of revulsion had gripped him and he had to take his thoughts off of her for it to pass. He racked his brains. Qyburn was a failed maester, loathed by the Citadel, yet new acolytes and Brienne were now in the Red Keep. It didn’t take much to come to the conclusion that there had been a change in power. Cersei would never have allowed Brienne in and Pycelle had been murdered; the Citadel would’ve been reluctant to send another Grand Maester while she was still queen.

The only player left was the dragon queen. The foolish Stark bastard had admitted to Cersei—the sour taste returned to his mouth—that he had allied with Daenerys Targaryen. They had to be here. The acolyte had mentioned his brother, Tyrion. No doubt, Tyrion was the reason he wasn’t a pile of ash at a dragon’s feet.

Jaime started out of his thoughts as he heard the handle on the door turn. It was only once Tyrion poked his head through that Jaime realized he’d been holding his breath and he let it out quietly. Tyrion continued to hover tentatively by the door and he finally said in a whisper, “You’re back. You’re really back.”

Tyrion’s eyes seemed to shine more than usual, but he stopped short of touching him and sat down, taking his time to get situated. Jaime studied him with a closed frown, noticing the hand pin sitting above his heart. 

“So your queen has taken the city?” Jaime asked.

His brother blinked at him, stunned, but then relaxed and said, “Yes. Queen Daenerys and King Jon have taken the Red Keep.”

“King Jon?” Jaime asked with only passing interest.

“Y-yes, they married,” Tyrion replied.

The stammer made Jaime refocus on him. Why would there be any hesitation there?

“What about the Army of the Dead? They were bearing down when you beseeched us in the Dragon Pit. I had every intention to go, I was preparing the army—”

“Please, relax,” Tyrion said in a soothing voice and made a slowing motion with his hands. “The Army of the Dead was defeated. The Night King was killed by Lady Arya Stark. They will never threaten the world again.”

Jaime fell back in relief, but he felt a pang of disappointment. The last good battle that demanded only loyalty to the living where he could prove himself and he had missed it. He doubted he’d get another opportunity to regain his honor, especially not when his limbs were so thin and his muscles ached from disuse.

“How are you feeling? I was expecting to find you still asleep.”

“Early to rise, as usual.” He smiled wryly at his brother.

“Are you in any pain at all?” 

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Jaime snapped.

“I know you don’t. Kinoc was wrong. He underestimated you.”

“Who?”

“The acolyte,” Tyrion replied stiffly.

“Oh. Him,” Jaime replied without much interest. 

“You seem...distracted.”

Jaime turned to glare at him. “Somehow, and I don’t remember how, I am sitting in the Red Keep within a stone’s throw of the dragon queen who wants me dead.”

“I’m not so sure she wants you dead,” Tyrion said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He could recognize the evasion there too. 

“I murdered her father. Of course she wants me dead. No doubt, you’ve stayed her hand.”

Tyrion hesitated. “Perhaps.”

Jaime curled his lip into a sneer. “You’re treating me like a simpleton. What happened? Why am I missing time? How  _ much _ time?”

His brother licked his lips and wavered. “Umm…”

“Tell me!”

“It’s been six months since the Dragon Pit.”

Jaime thought the bottom had fallen out of his stomach and he reeled. 

  
  



End file.
